THE  LION'S  MOUSE 


Books  by  tJie  Same  Authors 

CAR  OF  DESTINY,  THE 

CHAPEBON,  THE 

EVERYMAN'S  LAND 

GOLDEN  SILENCE,  THE 

GUESTS  OF  HERCULES,  THE 

HEATHER  MOON,  THE 

IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

LADY  BETTY  ACROSS  THE  WATER 

LIGHTNING  CONDUCTOR,  THE 

LIGHTNING  CONDUCTOR    DISCOVERS 

AMERICA,  THE 

LORD  LOVELAND  DISCOVERS  AMERICA 
MOTOR  MAID,  THE 
MY  FRIEND  THE  CHAUFFEUR 
PORT  OF  ADVENTURE,  THE 
PRINCESS  PASSES,  THE 
PRINCESS  VIRGINIA 
ROSEMARY  IN  SEARCH  OF  A  FATHER 
SECRET  HISTORY 
SET  IN  SILVER 
SOLDIER  OF  THE  LEGION,  A 


Suddenly  he  became  conscious  of  a  perfume,  and  saw  a 
young  and  beautiful  woman  hovering  at  the  door. 
"'Oh,  do  help  me!'  she  said." 


THE  LION'S  MOUSE 


BY 
C.  N.  &  A.  M.  WILLIAMSON 


FRONTISPIECE  BT 
HARRY  STAGEY  BENTON 


GARDEN  CITY  NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

1919 


COPYRIGHT,  1919,  BT 

C.  N.  &  A.  M.  WILLIAMSON 

ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED,    INCLUDING  THAT   Of 

TRANSLATION   INTO   FOREIGN    LANGUAGES. 

INCLUDING  THE  SCANDINAVIAN 


CONTENTS 

«BAFTBB  PAGE 

I.  THE  LION 3 

II.  THE  NET 15 

III.  THE  MOUSE 20 

IV.  THE  MURMUR  OF  THE  STORM    .     .  31 
V.  ON  THE  WAY  TO  THE  CAR    ...  40 

VI.  THE  PARCEL  WITH  THE  GOLD  SEALS  47 

VII.  THE  QUEEN'S  PEARLS      ....  58 

VIII.  BEVERLEY  TALKS ."67 

IX.  THE  BLUFF  THAT  FAILED     ...  76 

X.  THE  BLUFF  THAT  WON  ....  85 

XI.  O'REILLY'S  WAISTCOAT  POCKET.     .  93 

XII.  THE  HORIZONTAL  PANEL.     .     .     .  101 

XTTT.  "THERE  CAN  BE  No  BARGAIN"     .  109 

XIV.  THE  STONE  COPING 116 

XV.  THE  NUMBER  SEVENTEEN     .     .     .  122 

XVI.  A  QUOTATION  FROM  SHAKESPEARE  .  127 

XVII.  THE  MYSTERY  OF  THE  BOUDOIR     .  135 

XVm.  DEFEAT 143 

XIX.  THE  BROWN  TRUNK  149 


222S432 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

XX. 

MURDER      

PAGE 

157 

XXI. 

"KiT!"  

168 

XXII. 

THE  VOICE  THAT  DID  NOT  SEEM 
STRANGE  

178 

XXIII. 

"WHAT'S  DONE  CAN'T  BE  UN- 
DONE"       

184 

XXIV. 

ROGER'S  APPOINTMENT  AT  THE 
CLUB  

193 

XXV. 

KRANTZ'S  KELLER       .... 

202 

XXVI. 

THE  GIRL  IN  PINK     .... 

213 

XXVII. 

WHEN  BEVERLEY  CAME  HOME  . 

219 

xxvin. 

MR.  JONES  OF  PEORIA    . 

225 

XXIX. 

ACCORDING    TO    THE    MORNING 
PAPERS     

229 

XXX. 

WHAT  CLO  DID  WITH  A  KNIFE 

236 

XXXI. 

THE  NINE  DAYS   

244 

XXXII. 

"STEPHEN'S  DEAD!"  .... 

251 

xxxm. 

THE  PATCH  ON  THE  PILLOW 

257 

XXXIV. 

TRAPPED     

264 

XXXV. 

THE  TIME  LIMIT  OF  HOPE  . 

272 

XXXVI. 

"WE  Do  THINGS  QUICKLY  OVER 
HERE"     

282 

XXXVII. 

THE  TELEGRAM     

292 

xxxvni. 

WHO  Is  STEPHEN?      .... 

296 

XXXIX. 

ON  THE  ROAD  TO  NEWPORT 

314 

THE  LION'S  MOUSE 


I 

THE  LION 

ROGER  SANDS  had  steel-gray  eyes,  a  straight  black 
line  of  brows  drawn  low  and  nearly  meeting  above 
them,  thick  black  hair  lightly  powdered  with  silver 
at  the  temples,  and  a  clean-shaven,  aggressive  chin. 
He  had  the  air  of  being  hard  as  nails.  Most  people, 
including  women,  thought  him  hard  as  nails.  He 
thought  it  of  himself,  and  gloried  in  his  armour, 
never  more  than  on  a  certain  September  day,  when 
resting  in  the  Santa  Fe  Limited,  tearing  back  to 
New  York  after  a  giant's  tussle  in  California.  But — 
it  was  hot  weather,  and  he  had  left  the  stateroom 
door  open.  Everything  that  followed  came — from 
this. 

Suddenly  he  became  conscious  of  a  perfume,  and 
saw  a  woman  hovering,  rather  than  standing,  at  the 
door.  At  his  look  she  started  away,  then  stopped. 

"Oh,  do  help  me!"  she  said. 

She  was  young  and  very  beautiful.  He  couldn't 
stare  quite  as  coldly  as  he  ought. 

"What  can  I  do  for  you?"  was  the  question  he 
asked. 

He  had  hardly  opened  his  mouth  before  she 
flashed  into  the  stateroom  and  shut  the  door. 

"There's  a  man  I'm  afraid!" 


4  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

Though  she  was  young  and  girlish,  and  spoke 
impulsively,  there  was  something  oddly  regal  about 
her.  Princesses  and  girl-queens  ought  to  be  of  her 
type;  tall  and  very  slim,  with  gracious,  sloping  shoul- 
ders and  a  long  throat,  the  chin  slightly  lifted:  pale, 
with  great  appealing  violet  eyes  under  haughty 
brows,  and  quantities  of  yellow-brown  hair  dressed 
in  some  sort  of  Madonna  style. 

"You  needn't  be  afraid,"  he  said.  "Men  aren't 
allowed  to  insult  ladies  in  trains." 

"This  man  hasn't  insulted  me  in  an  ordinary  way. 
But  I'm  in  dreadful  danger.  American  men  are 
good  to  women,  even  strangers.  You  can  save  my 
life,  if  you  will  — or  more  than  my  life.  But  there's 
only  one  way."  Her  words  came  [fast,  on  panting 
breaths,  as  though  she  had  been  running.  The  girl 
had  stood  at  first,  her  hand  on  the  door-knob,  but 
losing  her  balance  with  a  jerk  of  the  train,  she  let 
herself  fall  into  the  seat.  There  she  sat  with  her 
head  thrown  wearily  back,  her  eyes  appealing  to 
the  eyes  that  looked  down  at  her. 

A  queer  fancy  ran  through  the  man's  brain.  He 
imagined  that  a  woman  being  tried  for  her  life  might 
look  at  the  judge  with  just  that  expression.  "What 
do  you  mean?"  asked  Sands. 

He  had  resisted  the  jerk  of  the  train,  and  was  still 
on  his  feet.  Instead  of  answering  his  question,  the 
girl  begged  him  to  sit  down. 

"I  can't  think  properly  while  it  seems  as  if  you 
were  waiting  to  turn  me  out,"  she  said. 

Sands  sat  down. 


THE  LION  5 

"I  hardly  know  how  to  tell  you  what  I  mean.  I 
hardly  dare,"  the  voice  went  on,  while  he  wondered. 
"It's  a  tremendous  thing  to  ask.  I  can't  explain 
.  .  .  and  if  I  hesitate  it  will  be  too  late.  I  don't 
know  your  name,  or  your  character,  except  what 
I  judge  from  your  face.  The  way  to  save  me  is 
to  keep  me  in  this  stateroom  with  the  door  shut,  as 
far  as  Chicago." 

"Good  heavens!  That's  .  .  ."  Sands  was 
going  to  end  his  sentence  with  "absolutely  impossi- 
ble ! "  But  he  stopped  in  the  midst.  Her  eyes  made 
him  stop.  It  was  as  if  he  were  pronouncing  a  death 
sentence.  He  was  silent  for  a  few  seconds. 

"I'd  have  to  say  .  .  .  no,  I  could  not  say  you 
were  my  wife,  because  everyone  knows  I've  not  got  a 
wife.  I'll  say  you  are  my  cousin:  say  you've  come 
late.  I  want  you  to  have  this  stateroom,  and  I'll  take 
another  ...  or  a  section.  I — I  could  do  that." 

"Will  you?"  she  breathed. 

"Yes.    I  will." 

He  said  this  almost  sullenly.  He  was  thinking: 
"Pretty  smart  new  dodge!  Neat  way  to  get  a  state- 
room all  the  way  from  Albuquerque  to  Chicago." 

"I'll  go  out  now  and  fix  things  up  with  the  con- 
ductor," he  promised.  "We  must  settle  on  a  story. 
You  came  on  board  at  Albuquerque  just  now?" 

"Yes.  The  last  minute  before  the  train  started. 
I  have  a  berth  in  this  car.  I  thought  I  was  safe, 
that  everything  was  right  for  me.  Then  I  saw 
the  man  .  .  .  not  the  one  I  expected;  worse. 
He  wasn't  in  this  car,  but  the  next.  I  saw  him 


6  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

standing  there.  He  was  looking  at  some  ladies 
passing  through.  One  had  on  deep  mourning,  and  a 
crepe  veil.  Perhaps  he  believed  it  was  I.  I  turned 
and  rushed  this  way.  Your  door  was  open,  and 
you  .  .  .  you  looked  like  a  real  man.  That's 
all." 

"What  about  your  baggage?" 

"I  have  nothing.     I     ...    was  in  a  hurry." 

"In  what  name  did  you  make  your  reservation?" 

"Miss  Beverley  White.  White  isn't  my  real 
name:  Beverley  is  ...  one  of  my  names. 
I  can't  tell  you  more." 

"All  right.  The  porter  will  get  some  toilet  things 
for  my  cousin  whom  I'm  to  chaperon  from  Albu- 
querque to  Chicago,  and  who  nearly  missed  the  train 
owing  to  illness.  He'll  bring  your  meals  in,  as 
you're  not  able  to  leave  your  stateroom." 

"That's  what  I'd  have  asked,"  she  said.  "I  may 
trust  the  porter?" 

"The  porter  knows  me.  Your  idea  is,"  he  went 
on,  his  hand  on  the  door,  "that  the  man  you  don't 
want  to  see  will  try  pretty  hard  to  see  you?" 

"Yes.  When  he  searches  the  train  and  can't 
find  me  (I'm  sure  he's  begun  the  search  already) 
he  can't  be  certain  I'm  on  board,  but  he  won't  give 
up  easily.  If  the  deepest  gratitude " 

"I  don't  need  consolation.  Any  other  instructions 
to  give  before  I  leave  you?" 

"No.  Yes  .  .  .  there's  one  thing.  Will  you 
take  charge  of  a  very  small  parcel?  I  daren't  keep 
it  myself,  in  case  anything  unexpected  should  happen. 


THE  LION  7 

"It  is  inside  my  dress,"  the  girl  explained.  For  an 
instant  she  turned  her  back,  then,  rebuttoning  her 
blouse  with  one  hand,  held  out  to  him  in  the  other  a 
long,  thick  envelope,  unaddressed,  and  sealed  with 
three  gold-coloured  seals.  Roger  took  the  parcel. 

"You  see  how  I  trust  you,"  she  said.  "This 
packet  is  the  most  valuable  thing  I  have  in  the  world, 
yet  I  feel  it  is  safe." 

"You  told  me  you  didn't  know  my  name.  But 
if  I'm  your  cousin  you'd  better  know  it.  I'm  Roger 
Sands " 

"Roger  Sands,  the  great — what  is  the  word? — 
corporation  lawyer?  The  man  who  saved  the  Cali- 
fornia Oil  Trust  king?  "  She  looked  surprised,  almost 
frightened. 

"It  isn't  a  'Trust,'  or  I  couldn't  have  saved  him. 
That  was  just  the  point." 

"How  lucky  I  am  to  have  such  a  man  stand  by  me! 
For  you  will?" 

He  slipped  the  long  envelope  into  an  inside  breast 
pocket  of  his  gray  tweed  coat.  "It's  as  safe  there 
as  in  a  bank,"  he  assured  her.  "Now  I'll  go  and 
make  everything  straight.  If  you  want  me,  you've 
only  to  ring  for  the  porter  and  send  me  word.  I 
won't  come  till  you  do  send." 

Whether  or  no  her  terror  was  justified,  Roger  re- 
solved to  give  it  the  benefit  of  the  doubt.  Instead 
of  trying  to  secure  another  stateroom,  he  would  try 
to  get  a  section  close  to  Stateroom  A,  in  order  to 
play  watch-dog. 

It  wasn't  difficult  to  do.     The  section  he  wanted 


8  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

was  engaged  from  the  next  stopping  place,  but  an 
exchange  could  be  made.  The  Pullman  car  conduc- 
tor took  it  upon  himself  to  attend  to  that.  Sands' 
suitcase,  coat,  and  magazines  were  arranged  on  both 
seats,  and  he  sat  down  to  keep  guard.  The  porter 
had  been  told  that  Miss  White  wasn't  to  be  dis- 
turbed unless  she  rang,  except  at  meal  times,  when 
he — Sands — would  choose  dishes  from  the  menu 
and  send  a  waiter  from  the  dining-car. 

A  few  toilet  things  were  somehow  procured  by 
the  negro,  and  handed  into  Stateroom  A,  with  a 
contribution  of  novels,  magazines,  and  a  box  of 
chocolates,  from  Miss  White's  cousin. 

Night,  Roger  realized,  would  be  the  dangerous 
time,  if  danger  there  was,  and  he  decided  not  to 
sleep.  Lying  awake  wasn't,  after  all,  very  difficult, 
for  the  portrait  of  the  girl  was  painted  on  Roger's 
mind.  He  saw  things  in  that  portrait  he'd  seen  but 
subconsciously  in  the  original.  He  thought  that 
her  beauty  was  of  the  type  which  would  shine  like 
the  moon,  set  off  with  wonderful  clothes  and  jewels. 
And  from  that  thought  it  was  only  a  step  to  picture 
the  joy  of  giving  such  clothes  and  jewels.  The  man 
was  surprised  and  ashamed  to  find  himself  thrilling 
like  a  boy. 

Daylight  released  him  from  duty.  He  dressed, 
and  had  his  section  made  up.  Though  all  peril — 
if  any — had  vanished  with  the  night,  Roger  couldn't 
bring  himself  to  leave  his  post  for  breakfast  until  he 
saw  the  porter  tap  at  the  door  of  Stateroom  A  in 
answer  to  a  ring. 


THE  LION  9 

"I  hope  Miss  White's  feeling  better,"  he  said  to 
the  negro,  when  the  door  shut  once  more. 

"Yes,  sah,  she  wants  her  room  fixed  up."  Ah'm 
gwan  do  it  raight  now,  but  Ah'm  bound  to  give  yuh 
the  lady's  message  fust.  She  thought  you'd  like 
to  heah  she's  mighty  well,  considerin'.  An*  she'll 
thank  yuh,  suh,  to  order  her  some  coffee  an*  toast." 

Roger  added  cantaloupe  to  the  order,  and  a  cereal 
with  cream.  The  mysterious  girl  hidden  in  his 
stateroom  was  no  longer  an  adventuress,  sponging 
on  his  idiotic  generosity:  she  was  an  exquisite,  almost 
a  sacred,  charge.  As  he  ate  his  breakfast  in  the 
dining-car  he  saw  a  man  he  knew  sitting  directly 
opposite  him  at  the  next  table.  Their  eyes  encoun- 
tered. Roger  felt  that  the  other  had  been  staring 
at  him  and  hadn't  had  time  to  look  away.  He  bowed, 
and  paused  at  the  table  which  he  was  obliged  to  pass 
on  his  way  out. 

"How  do  you  do,  O'Reilly?"  he  said,  with  a 
slight  stiffness.  He  would  have  preferred  to  walk 
past  with  no  more  than  the  nod,  but  in  that  case 
the  man  would  believe  his  late  absent-mindedness 
had  been  deliberate.  Roger  didn't  wish  to  leave 
this  impression.  Justin  O'Reilly  was  nearly  ten 
years  younger  than  he,  but  had  got  the  better  of 
him  once,  and  not  long  ago.  Sands  was  too  proud 
to  let  it  seem  as  if  the  memory  rankled. 

O  'Reilly  rose  and  shook  the  offered  hand.  He  was 
tall  and  lean,  and  brown-faced  as  a  soldier  back  from 
the  war.  He  had  a  boyish  air,  younger  than  his 
thirty-one  or  thirty-two  years:  but  under  that  look 


10  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

was  the  same  sort  of  hardness  and  keenness  which 
was  the  first  thing  a  stranger  noticed  about  Sands. 

"I'd  no  idea  you  were  out  west." 

"It's  been  a  flying  trip,"  O'Reilly  answered. 

"Queer  I  missed  seeing  you  before.  Suppose 
you've  been  on  board  since  Los  Angeles?" 

"I  caught  sight  of  you  last  night  for  the  first 
time,"  said  the  other.  "I'm  not  in  your  car,  and 
I've  been  resting  up.  I  came  on  board  tired.  One 
usually  does  come  on  board  tired!" 

"Yes,"  said  Roger.  "Well,  we  shall  knock  up 
against  each  other  now  and  then,  here  in  the  diner." 

"Sure  to.  I  shall  be  spending  a  few  days  in  New 
York  before  Washington,"  O'Reilly  volunteered. 

"Right!  But  don't  let  your  coffee  get  cold  for 
me."  Roger  passed  on. 

If  his  thoughts  had  not  been  focussed  on  the  occu- 
pant of  Stateroom  A  he  would  have  wondered  a 
good  deal  as  to  what  had  taken  Justin  0  'Reilly  on  a 
"flying  trip"  west.  This  was  O'Reilly's  first  year 
in  Congress,  and  he'd  manoeuvred  to  make  himself 
a  conspicuous  figure  in  Washington  one  way  or  other. 
His  own  present  interests  could  not,  Roger  thought,  be 
interfered  with  by  Justin  O'Reilly.  The  man  was  a 
Democrat,  and  opposed  on  principle  to  the  cause  of 
John  Heron,  whom  Miss  White  had  called  the  "  Cali- 
fornia Oil  Trust  King":  but  personally  the  two  were 
friends,  even  distantly  related,  and  O'Reilly  would 
wish  to  do  Heron  no  secret  injury. 

When  he  got  back  to  his  own  car  Sands  found  the 
porter  waiting. 


THE  LION  11 

"Lady's  through  breakfus,  suh,  and  would  like 
to  see  yuh  w'en  convenient,"  was  the  message:  and 
two  seconds  later  Stateroom  A's  rightful  owner  was 
humbly  knocking  at  the  door. 

The  girl's  beauty  struck  the  man  anew  as  she 
smiled  him  a  welcome.  She  was  as  well  groomed  as 
if  she  had  had  a  lady's  maid. 

"Has  anything  happened?  Have  you  had  any 
trouble  on  my  account?"  she  inquired. 

When  Roger  said  no,  nothing  had  happened,  she 
drew  a  breath  of  relief. 

"No  one  in  any  way  noticeable  has  tried  to  get 
acquainted  with  you?" 

"The  conductor  and  porter  and  a  waiter  or  two 
are  the  only  persons  I've  exchanged  a  word  with — 
except  a  fellow  I  know  slightly,  named  O'Reilly,  a 
Congressman  from  California.  I  suppose  he  doesn't 
interest  you?" 

"No  man  interests  me  .  .  .  unless  the  one 
who  is  saving  my  life,"  the  girl  answered  surpris- 
ingly. As  she  spoke,  a  wave  of  rose-colour  poured 
over  her  face,  and  she  turned  quickly  away  in 
confusion.  Roger  felt  that  she  had  blurted  it 
out,  scarcely  knowing  what  she  said  until  too 
late.  Instead  of  liking  her  less,  he  liked  her 
better.  He  brought  forth  the  envelope  to  show. 
It  had  been  under  his  pillow  all  night,  he  told 
her. 

"I  don't  know  what  I  should  have  done  without 
you!"  she  said,  with  a  gratitude  that  was  almost 
humble.  There'd  be  a  certain  blankness,  Roger 


12  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

couldn't  help  seeing,  when  the  time  came  to  do  with- 
out her! 

"When  we  get  to  Chicago,"  he  asked,  "how  can 
I  help  you  there?  " 

"Oh,  I  expect  to  be  met  by  a  friend.  I  sup- 
pose I  shan't  see  you  again:  but  I  shall  never 
forget." 

Roger  Sands  felt  a  horrid  twinge  of  some  unpleas- 
ant emotion.  He  loathed  the  "friend"  who  would 
take  the  girl  away  from  him. 

"But  Chicago's  a  long  way  off,"  she  said  when  he 
did  not  speak.  "It  must  seem  a  wild  story  to  you, 
but  the  danger  I'm  in  ...  the  danger  that  this 
envelope  is  in  .  .  .  won't  be  over  for  one  minute 
till  you've  put  me  into  my  friend's  hands.  You  will 
do  that,  won't  you?  You'll  see  me  through  till  the 
last?" 

"I  will,"  said  Roger. 

"And  meanwhile  you'll  come  and  call  on  me  in  the 
stateroom  sometimes  if  you  don't  mind?" 

Roger  smiled.  A  silver  lining  began  to  glimmer 
through  the  cloud. 

By  good  luck  he  knew  no  one  on  board  save 
O'Reilly,  who  fortunately  was  in  another  car,  and 
he  hoped  that  few  people  knew  him.  He  could  not 
resist  her  invitation.  He  began  by  deciding  to  spend 
a  hah*  hour  with  his  "invalid  cousin"  now  and  again. 
As  through  the  veil  of  beauty  he  caught  glimpses  of 
something  like  character  within,  Roger  felt  that  the 
mystery  thickened. 

The  inevitable  moment  came.     The  porter  was 


THE  LION  13 

brushing  men's  hats  and  coats.  Suitcases  were 
being  fastened  up.  The  Limited  was  slowing  down 
in  the  big  station.  Then,  and  not  till  then,  did 
Miss  White  show  herself  at  the  door  of  Stateroom  A. 
Sands,  who  had  knocked  to  tell  her  that  she  had 
better  come  out,  was  waiting  to  guard  her  for  the 
last  time.  Neither  had  much  to  say.  The  hope  of 
haven  had  not  raised  the  girl's  spirits.  As  Sands 
gave  her  a  hand,  stepping  on  to  the  platform,  he  saw 
Justin  O  'Reilly,  already  out  of  the  train  and  looking 
about  with  the  air  of  expecting  someone.  O'Reilly 
took  off  his  hat,  with  an  unnecessarily  cordial  smile 
for  Sands.  At  heart  they  were  enemies.  Roger  took 
the  smile  to  mean  amusement  at  sight  of  his  compan- 
ion. He  felt  annoyed.  Miss  White  was  looking 
straight  ahead,  a  brilliant  colour  staining  the  cheeks 
usually  pale. 

The  rendezvous,  she  had  explained  to  him,  was 
at  a  news  stand.  "There!"  she  said,  "that  is  where 
he  will  be.  There's  such  a  crowd,  I  can't  see  him 
yet." 

They  neared  the  news  stand,  and  as  "Miss  White" 
was  a  tall  girl  whose  head  could  be  seen  above  the 
hats  of  average  women,  he  expected  a  man  to  start 
eagerly  forward.  But  no  man  separated  himself 
from  the  crowd.  She  was  beginning  to  look  anxious: 
there  was  no  flush  on  her  cheeks  now. 

"Where  can  he  be?"  she  said.  "Something  must 
have  happened." 

"Taxi  broken  down,  perhaps,"  Roger  tried  con- 
solation. 


14  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

"Oh,  if  only  it's  nothing  worse!  I  must  just  wait. 
But  you,  Mr.  Sands,  I  oughtn't  to  ask  .  .  ." 

"You  needn't,"  Roger  cut  her  short.  "I'm  not 
going  to  desert  you." 

"I  might  have  known  you  wouldn't.  He  can't  be 
long!" 

"What  about  the  envelope?  Will  you  have  it 
now?"  Roger  asked.  She  had  begged  him  to  keep 
it  until  they  were  out  of  the  train. 

"Not  yet.  I  daren't.  You're  sure  it  hasn't  been 
stolen  from  you?  Do  please  make  certain!" 

He  put  his  hand  inside  his  coat,  and  felt  the  en- 
velope, which  was  safe,  of  course.  "It's  there,  as 
large  as  life." 

"Thank  heaven!"  she  breathed. 

Minutes  passed:  fifteen  minutes;  twenty;  thirty. 
The  girl  was  white  as  ashes,  and  dark  shadows  lay 
under  her  eyes.  "All  hope  is  over!"  she  said,  as 
Sands  glanced  at  his  watch,  when  they  had  stood 
for  three-quarters  of  an  hour.  "Some  terrible  thing 
has  prevented  him  from  meeting  me.  I  don't  know 
what's  going  to  become  of  me  now!" 


n 

THE  NET 

"You  made  no  plan  what  to  do  if  your  friend 
didn't  turn  up?"  Roger  enquired.  "Have  you  any 
other  friends  in  Chicago?" 

"Not  one." 

"Have  you  ever  lived  here,  or  stayed  here?" 

"No." 

If  he  had  now  been  capable  of  suspecting  her,  all 
his  first  suspicions  of  Miss  Beverley  White  would 
have  marshalled  themselves  in  his  brain.  Nothing 
had  happened  during  the  whole  journey  to  justify 
her  fantastic  story  of  mysterious  danger.  As  for 
the  wonderful  envelope,  who  could  tell  that  it  didn't 
contain  blank  paper?  But  Sands  had  got  beyond 
this  stage.  If  he  were  a  fool,  he  asked  to  be  nothing 
better. 

"Is  that  friend  you  talk  of  more  than  a  friend?" 

"No,  only  a  person  I  trusted  for  reasons  I  can't 
tell  you." 

"I  see.  And  you  don't  know  what  will  become  of 
you  since  he's  failed  you,  and  you're  turned  adrift 
in  a  strange  town?" 

"I  don't  know  at  all.  I  feel  stunned — as  if  it 
didn't  matter." 

"It  does  matter  to  a  girl  like  you,  left  alone  with- 

16 


16  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

out  friends  in  a  big  city  where  you're  a  stranger. 
Have  you  money?" 

"I  had  enough  and  more  than  enough  for  my 
journey  here,  enough  to  pay  you  back  for  all  you've 
done.  I  expected  to  get  more  money,  and  to  be 
looked  after  in  Chicago.  Perhaps  I  can  find  work." 

"Do  you  think  after  all  that's  passed  I  can  go 
coolly  on  my  way  leaving  you  alone  in  Chicago? 
I  may  be  a  fool,  but  I  have  another  proposal  to  make." 
He  paused. 

She  looked  up  as  if  startled. 

"What  do  you  say  to  marrying  me  and  going  on 
to  New  York  as  my  wife?" 

For  a  minute  he  thought  she  was  going  to  faint. 
She  seemed  suddenly  to  become  limp.  She  swayed  a 
little  on  her  feet,  and  he  caught  her  arm. 

"You're  tired  out,  standing  so  long,"  he  exclaimed. 

"No,  it's  not  that.  Forgive  me.  It  was  almost 
too  much,  finding  out  the  height  of  your  goodness. 
Yet,  'height'  is  the  word!" 

"You'll  marry  me,  then!"  he  cried. 

"No,"  the  girl  answered,  "I  thank  you  with  my 
whole  heart,  but  I  can't." 

"Why  .  .  .  why?"  he  stammered.  "Unless 
you're  married  already." 

"I'm  not  married.  No  man  has  ever  been  any- 
thing to  me.  I  swear  that  to  you!  But  I  can't  tell 
you  any  more  about  myself." 

Roger  did  not  speak  for  a  minute.    At  last  he  said : 

"See  here,  you  and  I  have  got  to  talk.  We  can't 
do  that  where  we  are,  with  people  jostling  us  this 


THE  NET  17 

way  and  that.  There's  one  thing  certain.  However 
this  ends,  I'm  not  going  to  leave  you  alone  in  Chicago. 
We've  got  plenty  of  time.  Will  you  let  me  take 
you  to  a  quiet  restaurant?  We  can  thrash  matters 
out  across  the  table." 

"Very  well,"  she  agreed. 

Roger  knew  Chicago.  When  he  had  arranged  to 
have  his  luggage  put  in  safe  keeping,  he  got  a  taxi 
and  took  the  girl  to  a  dull  but  good  place,  sure  to  be 
practically  empty  at  that  hour.  They  sat  down  at  a 
table  in  a  corner,  and  Sands  ordered  an  oyster  stew. 

"Do  you  dislike  me?"  he  began  his  catechism. 
"  Could  you  like  me  enough  to  think  of  me  as  a  hus- 
band, if  we'd  met  in  a  conventional,  society  sort  of 
way?" 

"Yes,  I  could.  I  do  want  you  to  know  that. 
You've  been  so  splendid  to  me." 

"So  far  so  good,  but  I  haven't  been  splendid. 
I've  fallen  in  love  with  you.  I  haven't  been  in  love 
before  .  .  .  that  is,  not  since  I  was  twenty. 
I've  never  had  time  .  .  ." 

"You  haven't  taken  much  time  in  doing  it  now!" 
She  gave  a  queer  little  laugh  with  a  sob  in  it. 

"I've  learned  the  lesson  that  time  isn't  the  thing 
needed.  I  want  you  more  than  I  ever  wanted  any- 
thing in  my  life,  and  I'll  take  you  ...  as  you 
stand." 

"You  haven't  stopped  to  think  ...  to  count 
the  cost,"  she  said.  "Imagine  what  it  would  be 
for  a  man  like  you  to  have  a  wife  he  knew  nothing 
about,  just  a  single  figure  cut  off  its  background,  in 


18  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

a  picture  he'd  never  seen.  People  would  ask :  '  Who 
was  she?'  and  there'd  be  no  answer." 

"They'd  not  ask  me  that,"  said  Roger  obstinately. 
"And  I  wouldn't  care  what  they  asked  each  other. 
I'm  not  a  society  man,  though  I  might  enjoy  putting 
my  wife  on  the  top  floor.  And  I  can  do  that  with 
you  if  I  choose!  You  say  I'm  a  man  of  importance. 
I'm  important  enough  anyhow  to  take  the  wife  I 
want,  and  to  put  her  where  I  want  her  to  be." 

"Yes,  perhaps.  But  it  wouldn't  be  only  for  a 
little  while  that  I'd  not  be  allowed  to  tell  you  about 
myself.  It  would  be  for  always.  You  couldn't  love 
me  enough  to  be  happy  in  spite  of  that." 

"I  could  be  happy,"  Roger  insisted,  "if  you'd 
love  me." 

"I'd  adore  you!    But    .    .     ." 

"  Then  there  isn't  any ' but '.  I  don't  say  I  shouldn't 
like  to  know  all  about  my  wife  and  her  people 
and  her  past.  Still,  I'd  rather  have  you  with  a 
future  and  no  past  than  any  other  woman  with 
both.  I  can't  do  without  you,  and  I'm  going  to 
have  you  .  .  .  now,  to-day,  as  soon  as  I  can 
buy  a  license  and  get  a  parson  to  make  us  man  and 
wife." 

"But  if  you  should  regret  it?" 

"I  never  will  be  sorry,  if  you'll  do  what  you  just 
said,  adore  me  .  .  .  half  as  much  as  I'll  adore 

you." 

Her  eyes  gave  him  a  beautiful  answer.  Roger 
Sands  felt  that  nothing  could  make  him  regret  the 
coming  of  such  a  romance  into  his  hustling  life. 


THE  NET  19 

This,  then,  was  the  story  behind  the  sensation 
when  Roger  Sands  came  back  from  a  short  trip  to 
California  bringing  a  wife,  a  girl  who  had  been  a 
Miss  Beverley  White,  a  girl  nobody  had  ever  seen 
or  heard  of  before. 


m 

THE  MOUSE 

ON  THE  same  September  day,  in  Moreton  and 
Payntor's  department  store  in  New  York,  might 
have  been  seen  a  wisp  of  a  girl  "cheeking"  a  manager 
into  giving  her  a  situation  on  the  strength  of  her  being 
Irish. 

By  chance,  the  side  door  of  the  big  Sixth  Avenue 
shop  opened  for  Clo  Riley  (her  true,  Irish,  baptismal 
name  was  Clodagh,  but  she  didn't  think  that  would 
"go"  in  New  York),  on  the  day  when  Roger  Sands' 
stateroom  door,  on  the  Santa  Fe  Limited,  opened  for 
a  very  different  girl  and  for  Romance.  No  one 
would  have  thought  that  they  could  be  in  the  same 
story — the  mysterious  Vision  and  the  little,  sharp- 
faced  thing  from  County  Cork.  Yet  without  Clo 
Riley  it  would  have  been  another  story  altogether, 
even  though,  for  more  than  six  months,  she  and  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Roger  Sands  never  heard  each  other's 
names,  nor  saw  each  other's  faces. 

It  was  in  the  April  after  her  marriage  that  Mrs. 
Sands  came  upon  an  advertisement  in  a  newspaper. 
Moreton  and  Payntor  were  making  a  splash  about 
their  lately  started  department  for  antique  furniture. 
They  had  obtained  "eight  magnificent,  unique 
pieces  of  satinwood  furniture  painted  by  Angelica 

20 


THE  MOUSE  21 

Kaufmann,  bought  by  a  representative  of  Moreton 
and  Payntor,  from  a  titled  family  in  England." 

Beverley  Sands  (her  husband  called  her  "Bev") 
loved  painted  satinwood,  when  it  was  good.  How 
she  knew  that  things  were  good  or  bad,  Roger  some- 
times wondered :  but  she  did  know.  Roger  had  taken 
a  house  at  Newport  which  had  come  into  the  market, 
and  Beverley  was  picking  up  "beautiful  pieces'* 
with  which  to  furnish  it.  The  house  would,  they 
hoped,  be  ready  to  move  into  by  June. 

When  she  read  Moreton  and  Payntor's  advertise- 
ment, Beverley  decided  to  see  the  satinwood  suite 
and  buy  it  if  genuine.  Her  present  wealth  empha- 
sized her  astonishing,  incredible  happiness.  "He 
gives  me  everything  I  want,  he  trusts  me  to  do  every- 
thing I  like,"  she  thought.  Life  was  wonderful. 
Slowly  she  was  coming  out  from  under  the  cloud 
of  fear,  and  had  ceased  to  be  afraid  of  Something 
terrible  that  might  happen. 

Roger  went  every  morning  to  the  offices  of  the 
firm  which  had  his  name  at  its  head.  She  had 
breakfasted  with  him  in  a  kind  of  super-dressing 
gown  which  Roger  said  was  like  an  opal  seen  through 
a  sunrise  mist.  As  her  maid  hooked  up  her  frock 
she  sang  for  happiness.  She  wished  she  could  earn 
it  by  making  someone  else  happy.  Roger  didn't 
count  in  that  way.  The  credit  would  be  to  do  things 
for  a  person  you  didn't  love. 

"To  the  first  creature  I  meet  to-day,  who  needs 
help,  I'll  give  it,"  she  said  to  herself.  "I'll  do  some- 
thing big  .  .  .  like  sacrificing  on  an  altar." 


22  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

She  went  out  in  Roger's  latest  present,  a  limousine 
car,  so  silent  and  so  swift  that  it  travelled  like  a 
cloud-shadow.  Outside  the  car  was  dark  blue; 
inside,  the  pale  azure  of  a  robin's  egg.  Beverley 
told  the  chauffeur  to  drive  to  Moreton  and  Payntor's, 
avoiding  traffic  because  she  was  in  a  hurry.  To  do 
this,  he  approached  the  shop  by  passing  through  a 
side  street  in  which  was  the  entrance  for  employees, 
as  well  as  that  leading  to  minor  departments,  and  so 
connecting  with  the  main  shop.  It  was  compara- 
tively a  quiet  street,  but  to-day  there  was  a  crowd. 
Something  had  happened,  and  only  a  moment  ago, 
for  a  policeman  was  just  coming  up.  The  chauffeur 
would  have  hurried  by  to  spare  Mrs.  Sands  what 
might  be  an  unpleasant  sight,  but  on  one  of  her  im- 
pulses she  stopped  him.  The  car  windows  were 
open.  Beverley  heard  the  words  "Poor  child"  and 
"Ambulance."  She  opened  the  door  and  jumped 
out.  Because  she  was  beautiful  and  beautifully 
dressed,  and  had  a  fine  car,  people  made  way  for  her. 

On  the  pavement  a  girl  was  lying.  There  was 
some  blood,  and  that  would  have  made  Beverley 
sick,  if  the  face  streaked  red  hadn't  struck  her  as 
the  most  tragic,  the  most  pathetic  face  she  had  ever 
seen.  It  was  so  ghastly  white,  so  thin,  and  yet  so 
young! 

"What  is  it?  What's  happened?"  she  inquired 
of  the  innermost  group. 

"Chucked  herself  out  of  a  fourth  story  window," 
a  fat  woman  answered.  "Somebody  was  beastly 
to  her,  I  guess." 


THE  MOUSE  23 

"Is  she  dead?"  Beverley  asked. 

"Not  yet  .  .  .  though  she  must  be  a  bag 
o'  broken  bones.  She'll  die  on  the  way  to  hospital, 
likely,  in  the  ambulance,  with  nobody  to  care." 

At  that  instant,  as  if  she  heard  the  terrible  words, 
the  girl's  eyes  opened.  It  seemed  to  Beverley  that 
they  looked  straight  at  her. 

Suddenly  she  remembered  her  own  resolve.  It 
had  been  almost  a  vow:  "To  the  first  creature  I 
meet  to-day  who  needs  help  I'll  give  it." 

Here  was  the  creature.  If  ever  there  were  an 
appeal  in  human  eyes,  it  was  in  these.  Perhaps  it 
was  an  unconscious  appeal.  Perhaps  the  brain  had 
been  stunned  asleep,  but  the  deep-down  soul  was 
awake.  It  was  calling  to  Beverley's  soul,  and  the 
call  had  to  be  answered,  or  the  vow  would  be  broken. 
Roger  Sands'  wife  dared  not  break  such  a  vow  lest  she 
should  be  punished  and  lose  her  magical  happiness. 

She  hated  the  sight  of  blood.  She  wanted  to 
think  that,  if  the  girl  were  dying,  she  could  do  no 
good.  Yet,  while  reason  argued,  instinct  had  al- 
ready decided  that  this  was  the  claimant  of  the  vow. 
Beverley  knelt  down  beside  the  curiously  flat-looking 
body  which  lay  on  the  pavement.  Her  dress  dipped 
into  a  widening  pool  of  blood,  but  she  did  not  sicken 
as  she  had  thought  she  would.  And  to  her  own  sur- 
prise she  found  her  hand  stroking  back  a  lock  of  dark 
red  hair  from  the  upturned  face.  Poor,  thin,  child's 
face! 

"Don't  be  afraid,  you're  going  to  be  loved  and 
cared  for,"  she  promised. 


24  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

By  this  time  a  doctor  had  arrived.  He,  too,  knelt 
by  the  sufferer.  He  spoke  to  Beverley,  thinking  she 
had  some  acquaintance  with  the  injured  girl.  The 
police  had  cleared  away  the  sensation  seekers,  but  the 
lovely  lady  of  the  blue  automobile  was  left  in  peace. 
She  seemed  to  be  helping  the  doctor. 

"Keep  off,  please,  keep  off,"  the  policemen  re- 
peated. "The  ambulance'll  be  round  any  instant.'* 

But  the  ambulance  did  not  take  its  cue.  This 
was  strange,  for  the  service  was  splendidly  prompt. 
A  man  ran  up  bringing  news  that  there'd  been  a  col- 
lision with  a  trolley.  No  one  was  hurt,  but  it  meant 
a  delay  before  another  ambulance  could  be  called  and 
respond. 

"Can't  we  take  her  away  in  my  car?"  asked 
Beverley.  "Oh,  why  shouldn't  I  have  her  at  my 
house?  She's  only  a  child,  so  thin  and  frail !  Loving 
care  might  save  her.  I'd  have  a  trained  nurse  in. 
I'm  Mrs.  Roger  Sands.  You  may  know  my  hus- 
band's name." 

The  name  of  Roger  Sands  was  impressive.  So 
was  Beverley,  and  so  was  the  car.  The  ambulance 
wasn't  at  hand,  and  time  pressed.  It  seemed  as  if 
the  offer  might  be  accepted.  The  doctor  was  the 
physician  engaged  to  attend  the  employees  of  More- 
ton  and  Payntor,  and  had  authority  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood. To  test  Mrs.  Roger  Sands'  character  he 
abruptly  ordered  her  into  the  surgical  department — 
"ground  floor,  close  by  the  side  street  entrance" — to 
"fetch  out  a  stretcher  and  be  quick."  Beverley 
responded  without  hesitation,  and  in  two  minutes  a 


THE  MOUSE  25 

startled  boy  appeared  with  a  canvas  thing  like  a 
cot. 

The  doctor  and  one  of  the  policemen  got  the  child- 
ish body  on  to  this  while  Beverley  darted  to  her 
waiting  chauffeur.  He — Robbins,  an  elderly  Eng- 
lishman— was  furious,  but  short  of  giving  notice  then 
and  there,  could  do  nothing  save  obey.  The  folding 
chairs  were  pulled  out:  on  one  was  piled  the  car's  best 
ornament,  a  large  chinchilla  rug,  and  some  blue  silk 
cushions.  These  gave  support  for  the  foot  of  the 
stretcher,  its  head  resting  on  the  seat;  and  the  other 
folding  chair  was  taken  by  the  doctor  who,  sitting 
there,  could  hold  his  patient  safely  in  place.  Mrs 
Roger  Sands  scrambled  up  beside  her  chauffeur,  and 
did  not  even  notice  that  the  man's  face  was  a  thunder- 
cloud. 

Robbins  could  have  cried.  His  last  situation  in 
England  had  been  with  a  duke.  He  would  still  have 
occupied  it,  had  he  not  long  passed  the  "smart"  age. 
Roger  Sands  had  thought  him  an  excellent  guardian 
for  Beverley.  Robbins  didn't  approve  of  America, 
but  he  had  approved  of  his  mistress.  There  had 
seemed  to  him  something  queenly  about  her  which 
"reminded  him  of  home,"  but  to-day  he  was  ashamed 
of  her:  to  drive  through  the  streets  of  New  York 
sitting  on  the  front  seat  beside  him,  as  if  she  were  a 
lady's  maid!  Worse  than  all,  her  dress,  her  gloves, 
were  stained  with  blood.  As  for  the  inside  of  the 
new  car,  it  would  be  ruined.  The  man  felt  re- 
sponsible, and  believed  that  his  master  would  con- 
sider him  so.  Sitting  beside  Mrs.  Sands,  with  the 


26  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

look  of  an  inferior  Roman  statue  on  his  square  face, 
the  chauffeur  resolved  to  see  Mr.  Sands  before  the 
tale  of  this  morning's  work  could  be  told  by  Sands' 
American  chauffeur,  who  drove  him  to  and  from  the 
office.  The  Englishman  decided  to  bribe  the  Amer- 
ican to  "lend  his  job"  that  afternoon.  They  could 
arrange  an  excuse.  Harter  had  a  cold.  But,  as  it 
happened,  Roger  Sands  read  of  the  affair  in  a  second 
edition  of  an  evening  paper  while  he  waited  for  his 
car. 

To  see  Beverley's  name  in  big  letters  gave  him  a 
shock.  He  became  conscious  that  somewhere  within 
him  had  always  been  a  horror  of  finding  his  wife's 
name  in  a  newspaper,  heading  "scarelines."  His 
first  feeling  as  he  read  on  was  of  relief.  Why,  this 
was  nothing! 

Some  reporter  had  worked  up  the  incident  into  a 
romance,  and  his  editor,  appreciating  Roger  Sands' 
importance,  had  given  it  nearly  a  whole  column.  On 
the  surface  it  was  a  tribute  to  Mrs.  Sands'  goodness 
of  heart;  but  as  Roger's  rush  of  thankfulness  passed, 
he  began  to  see  an  unpleasant  side  of  the  business. 

The  reporter  had  interviewed  various  persons  in 
the  firm  of  Moreton  and  Payntor.  He  had  learned 
that  the  girl  befriended  by  Mrs.  Roger  Sands  was 
employed  in  the  restaurant  for  women  "assistants." 
By  certain  of  these,  she  had  been  suspected  of  small 
thefts.  They  had  watched  her,  and  it  was  in  the 
midst  of  a  "scene"  following  an  accusation,  that  the 
waitress  had  suddenly  flung  herself  out  of  a  fourth 
story  window.  She  was  an  Irish  girl  not  long  in 


THE  MOUSE  27 

New  York.  Her  name  was  Clo  Riley,  and  she  had 
been  in  the  employ  of  Moreton  and  Payntor  for 
nearly  seven  months.  She  had  made  no  friends, 
and  was  considered  "Mysterious." 

At  the  Park  Avenue  apartment  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Roger  Sands  an  interview  had  been  refused;  but  the 
reporter  had  learned  from  a  servant  that,  if  the  in- 
valid were  "a  dear  relative"  of  Mrs.  Sands,  she  could 
not  be  more  lovingly  cared  for.  The  largest  and 
handsomest  spare  room  had  been  hastily  prepared, 
a  trained  nurse  engaged,  and  a  famous  surgeon  had 
been  called  in  consultation  with  the  doctor  who  had 
undertaken  the  case.  Following  these  details  came 
a  description  of  Mrs.  Roger  Sands,  gleaned  from  an 
"eye  witness"  of  the  "sensational  scene"  enacted  in 
the  street. 

The  story  developed  strangely  to  Roger.  He  saw 
something  behind  it.  He  knew  things  about  Bever- 
ley  which,  he  trusted,  few  others  knew,  and  saw  the 
affair  in  another  light. 

Roger's  marriage  experiment  was  a  success.  He 
was  glad  that  he  had  taken  the  girl  "as  she  stood." 
To  have  what  she  had  called  a  "figure  cut  off  its 
background  out  of  an  unseen  picture,"  was  better 
than  to  have  lost  forever  a  figure  of  such  beauty. 
He  believed  that  Beverley  was  as  good  as  she  was 
sweet,  but  she  had  been  right  in  her  prophecy;  it 
was  hideous,  sometimes,  to  see  her  outlined  against 
darkness. 

The  incident  had  happened  close  to  Moreton  and 
Payntor's  department  store.  Beverley  had  been 


28  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

in  the  habit  of  going  there  lately.  She  might  have 
had  a  reason  for  choosing  that  shop.  Indeed,  it 
struck  Roger  as  incredible  that  even  her  impulsive- 
ness could  lead  her  so  far,  for  a  stranger's  sake.  Be- 
sides, why  hadn't  she  telephoned?  It  looked  as  if 
she  were  determined  to  carry  out  her  scheme  before 
he  could  oppose  it. 

In  this  mood  he  went  to  his  automobile.  He  was 
surprised  to  see  Robbins,  but  not  sorry,  because  Rob- 
bins  had  been  mixed  up  in  the  morning's  affair. 

"What's  this  I've  been  reading  in  the  Evening 
Star?"  he  broke  in. 

Here  was  luck  for  Robbins!  He  began  to  excuse 
himself  for  the  disgrace  which  had  fallen  upon  the 
new  car.  "It  was  the  mistress's  order,  sir,  and  I  had 
no  choice;  but  I  can't  help  thinking  if  she'd  known 
what  a  mess  the  blood  would  make,  she'd  'ave  let  me 
call  a  taxi." 

"Another  lining  is  easily  put  in,"  said  Roger, 
coolly;  but  he  was  angry  for  the  first  time  with  Bever- 
ley.  Of  all  women,  she  was  the  one  who  ought  to 
think  twice  before  doing  a  thing  to  get  herself  talked 
about;  but  she  never  thought  twice.  As  he  drove 
homeward,  doubts  of  her  crowded  into  his  mind. 

At  home,  Beverley  was  in  the  room  which  had  been 
turned  into  a  hospital  ward.  The  nurse  had  called 
her,  to  announce  that  the  "patient"  had  returned 
to  consciousness  and  had  begun  asking  questions. 

"I  saw  it  would  worry  her  to  be  put  off,"  went  on 
Sister  Lake,  "so  I  told  her  a  few  things.  She  re- 
membered throwing  herself  out  of  the  window,  and 


THE  MOUSE  29 

the  fall,  and  then  waking  up,  lying  in  the  street. 
She  said  she'd  dreamed  of  an  angel-girl  bending  over 
her.  When  she  heard  what  you'd  done,  she  insisted 
on  speaking  to  you." 

"I'll  go  at  once!"  Beverley  exclaimed. 

"Just  for  a  few  minutes,"  the  nurse  hinted. 

Beverley  let  herself  be  led  in.  The  room  looked 
strange  to  her.  The  servants,  directed  by  the  doctor, 
and  later  by  the  trained  nurse,  had  swiftly,  noise- 
lessly made  the  changes  before  the  girl  came  back  to 
herself.  The  curtains  had  been  taken  down,  and 
rugs  cleared  away  from  the  parquet  floor.  Most 
of  the  furniture  had  disappeared,  and  on  a  glass  table 
were  a  number  of  bottles.  The  bed  faced  the  door, 
and  as  Mrs.  Sands  softly  entered  a  pair  of  eyes  looked 
at  her.  Beverley's  heart  jumped  as  her  eyes  met 
them.  She  had  not  known  how  immense  and  dark 
they  were,  or  that  they  were  beautiful. 

The  nurse  drew  Mrs.  Sands  near  to  the  bed,  and 
issued  her  orders  before  the  girl  could  open  her  lips. 

"Neither  of  you  must  talk  much,"  she  commanded. 
"Mrs.  Sands  has  come  to  let  you  see  that  she  exists, 
and  you  can  thank  her  if  you  like,  but  she  mustn't 
stay  many  minutes." 

"Sister  Lake  is  right,"  said  Beverley.  "You 
mustn't  excite  yourself.  You're  going  to  get  well; 
and  this  is  your  home." 

"I'm  not  excited,"  the  girl  answered,  in  a  low, 
monotonous  voice,  hardly  above  a  whisper.  "But 
I  had  to  see  you,  and  tell  you  this  one  thing.  I  didn't 
want  to  live,  because  ...  I  was  miserable, 


30  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

and  everyone  hated  me;  still,  it  seemed  awful  to  die. 
You  saved  me.  I  wish  to  live  now,  if  only  to  show 
you  what  gratitude  can  be.  I  expect  you're  awfully 
rich.  I'm  poorer  than  any  church  mouse.  It  doesn't 
look  as  if  I  could  do  anything  for  one  like  you.  But 
who  knows?  There  was  a  mouse  once  helped  a  lion. 
It  gnawed  a  hole  in  a  net.  I  feel  as  if  the  time  must 
come  when  I  can  do  as  much,  because  I  want  to  so 
dreadfully.  That's  all!" 


IV 
THE  MURMUR  OF  THE  STORM 

IT  SEEMED  that  everything  were  to  go  wrong  with 
Roger  Sands  that  day.  He  had  felt  for  the  last  few 
months  that  a  cloud  had  risen  between  him  and  John 
Heron,  whose  cause  he  had  won  in  California.  If 
ever  a  business  man  owed  a  debt  of  gratitude  to  the 
brains  of  another,  John  Heron  owed  such  a  debt  to 
Roger  Sands,  who  had  risked  not  only  his  reputation, 
but  even  his  life  against  the  powerful  enemies  of  the 
alleged  "California  Oil  Trust  King."  Heron  had 
appeared  fully  to  appreciate  this;  and  before  Roger 
left  for  New  York  had  been  almost  oppressively 
cordial,  begging  in  vain  that  Roger  would  visit  him 
and  his  wife,  a  famous  beauty  with  Spanish  blood  in 
her  veins.  He  had  written  once,  immediately  after 
Sands*  departure,  and  had  telegraphed  congratula- 
tions on  reading  the  news  of  Roger's  marriage.  But 
the  friendly  reply  had  remained  unacknowledged. 
The  wedding  present  of  a  gold  tea  service  had  been 
accompanied  by  no  letter,  only  a  card  with  the  names 
of  "Mr.  and  Mrs.  John  Heron."  With  Sands' 
thanks  the  correspondence  ended.  .  .  .  This 
had  vexed  Roger,  who  liked  Heron  and  was  not  used 
to  being  slighted.  The  only  thing  he  could  think  of 
was  Beverley's  failure  to  enclose  a  note  to  Mrs. 

31 


32  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

Heron  in  his  letter  of  thanks.  She  had  argued  that 
the  present  was  for  him,  really,  and  that  if  she  wrote 
Mrs.  Heron  it  would  look  "pushing." 

Roger  let  the  matter  slide,  and  had  written  in  his 
wife's  name  and  his  own.  At  last  he  read  in  some 
newspaper  that  "Mr.  and  Mrs.  John  Heron  intended 
shortly  to  start  for  the  east,  where  they  would  spend 
the  summer."  Without  waiting  to  consult  Beverley 
he  wrote,  saying  he  had  read  the  news,  and  he 
and  his  wife  hoped  for  a  visit  in  their  Newport 
house  as  soon  as  it  was  ready.  He  had  written, 
not  from  the  office,  but  from  home,  with  the  Park 
Avenue  address  on  the  paper.  To-day,  as  he  en- 
tered his  study,  his  eye  lit  on  an  envelope  with 
John  Heron's  writing  upon  it. 

The  letter  lay  on  the  top  of  others  on  his  desk, 
and  instead  of  going  to  find  Beverley  at  once,  as  was 
his  lover's  custom,  he  sat  down  to  read  his  corre- 
spondence. 

The  first  letter  he  opened  was  Heron's,  which 
consisted  of  a  few  lines  on  one  page.  Roger's  eyes 
took  in  the  whole  at  a  glance. 

DEAB  MR.  SANDS: 

My  wife  and  I  are  obliged  to  you  for  your  kind  invitation,  but 
owing  to  the  fact  that  we  have  already  made  a  great  number  of 
engagements  I  fear  we  shall  be  unable  to  give  ourselves  the  pleas- 
ure of  accepting. 

Yours  truly, 

JOHN  HERON. 

The  blood  rushed  to  Roger's  forehead.  He  real- 
ized that  this  was  a  deliberate  insult. 


THE  MURMUR  OF  THE  STORM        33 

The  last  letter  had  begun  "Dear  Sands,"  and  had 
been  signed  "Yours  gratefully  ever."  Roger  was 
even  more  furious  than  mystified.  "Next  time  he 
wants  me  to  pull  him  out  of  a  death  trap,  he  can 
whistle  for  his  pains!" 

At  that  instant  Beverley  tapped  at  the  door,  and 
hah*  opened  it  to  peep  in. 

This  irritated  Roger.  He  had  told  her  from  the 
first  that  she  need  not  knock  at  his  study  door. 

"How  often  have  I  begged  you  not  to  knock?" 
he  broke  out  at  her.  "Come  in  if  you  want  to." 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  spoken  crossly. 
Beverley  started,  and  the  look  on  her  face,  instead 
of  overwhelming  Roger  with  remorse,  hardened  him. 

Beverley's  colour  had  been  bright,  but  she  turned 
pale  as  Roger  flung  at  her  his  scolding  words.  Seeing 
the  letter  in  her  husband's  hand  the  blood  streamed 
back  to  her  cheeks.  If  she  could  possibly  have  known 
and  recognized  Heron's  writing,  it  might  have  seemed 
that  the  sight  of  it  had  struck  her  with  fear.  But  no 
such  far-fetched  thought  occurred  to  her  husband. 

"I — I'm  sorry!"  she  said  hastily.  "I  heard  your 
voice — I  supposed  someone  was  with  you " 

Roger  forgot  that  he  had  spoken  aloud.  In 
silence  he  let  the  girl  cross  the  floor  and  sit  down  in 
the  easy  chair  she  called  "hers."  She  dropped  into 
it  as  if  her  knees  had  given  way,  and  looked  at  Roger. 
When  he  did  not  speak,  she  could  bear  the  suspense 
no  longer. 

"You — you're  reading  a  letter — I  interrupted 
you?" 


34  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

"The  letter's  of  no  importance,"  said  Roger, 
throwing  it  upon  the  desk.  "It's  only  from  John 
Heron  to  tell  me  that  he  and  his  wife  won't  be  able  to 
come  and  see  us  at  Newport.  One  would  suppose 
by  his  tone  that  he  was  offended.  Probably  Mrs. 
Heron  expected  you  to  gush  over  the  wedding  pres- 
ent, and  has  put  him  up  to  snubbing  me  because 
you  didn't." 

"You  asked  the  Herons  to  visit  us?  I — didn't 
know " 

"I  did  ask  them,"  Roger  cut  her  short.  "I  heard 
they  were  coming  East." 

"Oh,  Roger,  I  couldn't  have  met  them!  If  they'd 
accepted  I  should  have  had  to  be  ill,  or — or  go  away ! " 
Beverley  exclaimed  on  one  of  her  impulses,  which 
instantly  she  appeared  to  regret.  "I'm  glad  you 
don't  like  Mr.  Heron's  letter,  because — you'll  never 
ask  them  again!  I  haven't  done  anything  to  annoy 
you,  have  I  ?  " 

"You  know  best  whether  you  have  or  not." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Is  it  necessary  to  ask?  I  came  home  intending 
not  to  question  you.  But  I  must  make  one  com- 
ment: you're  surprised  that  I  invite  a  friend  to  visit 
us  without  consulting  you.  That  seems  inconsistent 
with  what  you've  done.  I've  read  the  evening  paper, 
and " 

"Oh,  Roger!  It's  in  the  paper  .  .  .  about 
that  poor  child  and  me?" 

"Naturally!    You  and  I  aren't  nonentities." 

"You  don't  think  I  did  wrong?" 


THE  MURMUR  OF  THE  STORM        35 

"Wrong's  a  big  word.  You've  done  something 
foolish,  and  inconsiderate  to  me." 

"What  harm  can  the  child  do  to  you?" 

"That  depends  upon  what  sort  of  'child*  she  is! 
Perhaps  you  can  give  me  a  better  account  of  her 
than  the  Evening  Star  gives!" 

"I  can't  give  you  any,"  said  Beverley,  in  a  trem- 
bling voice,  "except  that  she  was  the  most  pitiful 
thing  I  ever  saw  ...  so  young  and  desperate, 
lying  in  pools  of  blood." 

"Which  pools  of  blood  you  transferred  to  your 
new  motor  car,  my  present,  that  I  thought  you 
valued." 

"Roger!  WTiat  did  the  motor  matter,  compared 
with  saving  a  life?  " 

"Saving  a  life  wasn't  in  question.  An  ambulance 
would  have  been  on  the  spot  in  a  minute  to  take  the 
girl  to  a  hospital." 

"She  wouldn't  have  had  love  in  a  hospital.  I 
felt  it  was  for  lack  of  love  she'd  tried  to  kill  Tier- 
self.  .  .  ." 

"A  girl  who  steals  her  companions'  money  can't 
expect  to  have  their  love.  .  .  ." 

"Oh!  So  that's  what  the  newspaper  says?  I 
don't  believe  she  stole.  Wait  till  you-see  the  poor 
little  thing,  Roger." 

"I  don't  want  to  see  her.  Now  she's  here,  she'll 
have  to  stay  till  she  dies,  or  can  be  safely  moved. 
I've  no  wish  to  be  cruel.  But  when  she  can  go,  I 
want  her  to  do  so.  I  don't  mind  giving.  .  .  ." 

"You    do   mind   giving   faith   and    sympathy!" 


36  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

Beverley  burst  out.  "Why  should  you  take  me  OB 
faith,  and  refuse  it  to  another?  You  knew  nothing 
about  me  ...  I  know  nothing  about  this 
child.  .  .  ." 

"Ah,  you're  sure  you  know  nothing  about  her!" 
His  tone  was  bitter. 

"What  could  I  know?"  she  echoed.  "I  brought 
her  straight  home,  and  she  hasn't  been  able  to 
tajk  .  .  .  except  a  few  words." 

"It  occurred  to  me  as  rather  odd  you  should  do  so 
much  for  a  complete  stranger." 

*'0h,  I  see!  You  think  I  knew  her  .  .  .  be- 
fore?" 

"I  thought  it  possible.  Her  name  put  the  idea  into 
my  head.  I  heard  you  say  it  once  ...  in 
your  .  .  .  sleep  .  .  .  Riley  ...  or 
something  like  that." 

For  the  third  time  Beverley  blushed,  one  of  her 
fatal,  agonized  blushes.  The  rush  of  blood  forced 
tears  to  her  eyes;  and  a  certain  strained  look  in  them, 
a  quivering  of  the  lips,  brought  back  to  Roger's 
mind  a  picture  of  her  in  the  train.  That  was  the 
first  time  he  had  seen  her  blush.  She  had  said — he 
remembered  well — "You  are  the  only  man  I'm  in- 
terested in,"  and  had  blushed  furiously.  He  had 
been  sure  then  that  she  was  no  adventuress.  She  had 
looked  like  a  frightened  child,  and  she"  looked  like 
one  now.  With  that  picture  of  the"girl  in  the  train 
came  back  another  recollection.  She  had  asked  if 
anyinan  had  inquired  for  her,  or  if  any  "noticeable" 
person  had  sought  his  acquaintance.  He  had  replied 


THE  MURMUR  OF  THE  STORM        37 

that  he'd  not  spoken  with  a  soul  except  a  man  he 
knew  slightly,  a  Congressman  from  California  named 
O'Reilly.  He  supposed  that  O'Reilly  didn't  inter- 
est her?  Upon  this,  with  a  desperate  blush,  she 
had  made  her  startlingly  frank  reply. 

As  this  came  back,  Roger's  heart  was  no  longer 
soft.  What  a  fool  he  had  been,  that  day  in  the  train, 
not  to  connect  the  girl's  change  of  colour  with  his 
mention  of  O'Reilly!  She  might  have  blurted  out 
her  compliment  to  excuse  the  blush,  instead  of  the 
blush  having  followed  the  compliment.  Good  heav- 
ens! could  Justin  O'Reilly  have  been  the  man  from 
whom  she  wished  to  hide? 

"Perhaps  the  name  you  spoke  in  your  sleep  was 
O'Reilly!"  he  flung  at  his  wife. 

Beverley  gathered  herself  together. 

"So  all  this  time,"  she  said,  "you  have  been  suspi- 
cious of  me!  And  I  was  so  happy.  I  thought  you 
were  happy,  too,  but  it's  just  as  I  was  afraid  it  would 
be,  if  I  married  you.  You  can't  endure  the  strain!" 

"I  have  endured  the  strain,"  Roger  defended  him- 
self; "because  I  loved  you  as  few  men  have  ever 
loved,  but  the  question  is,  have  you  deserved  it  all?" 

"This  is  the  moment  I  felt  must  come!"  she  said. 
"If  I  had  only  myself  to  think  of,  don't  you  know 
I'd  have  told  you  everything?  I  warned  you  how  it 
would  be  ...  how  I  should  have  to  keep  the 
secret  not  for  a  little  while,  but  for  always!  If  you 
don't  believe,  if  you  think  I  lied  when  I  said  no  man 
had  ever  been  anything  to  me  ...  if  you  think 
I  lie  now,  when  I  say  I  never  saw  or  heard  of  this  girl 


38  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

till  I  found  her  in  the  street.  ...  I  can  go  out 
of  your  life.  ...  I  can  go  to-day ! " 

As  she  spoke  slowly,  sentence  by  sentence,  with  a 
sobbing  breath  between,  Beverley  looked  straight 
into  her  husband's  eyes.  Hers  did  not  falter  though 
they  swam  in  tears.  With  her  last  words,  she  rose 
and  stood  facing  him  as  "he  sat  at  his  desk. 

Roger  gave  her  back  gaze  for  gaze,  as  if  he  would 
read  her  secret  written  in  cypher  on  her  soul.  He 
saw  that  she  meant  what  she  said.  A  word  from 
him,  and  their  experiment  was  at  an  end.  She 
would  go.  It  seemed  to  him  that  never  had  her 
beauty  been  so  gentle,  so  womanly. 

"You  shan't  go!"  he  cried,  springing  to  his  feet. 
"I  can't  give  you  up!'* 

But  she  held  him  off. 

"No!"  she  panted.  "I  won't  stay  if  you  want  me 
only  in  that  way — because  you  have  a  kind  of  love 
for  me,  whether  you  believe  in  me  or  not.  I  love 
you  too  much  to  be  shamed  by  you!  Either  you 
trust  me,  or  you  don't.  Say  which  it  is,  and  I'll 
stay,  or  go." 

"I've  got  to  trust  you!  I  do!"  The  words 
seemed  to  burst  from  him.  "You  know  I  love  you 
more  than  all  the  world.  It  would  kill  me  to  lose 
you." 

"I'd  rather  die  from  the  shock  of  losing  you, 
Roger,  than  from  such  a  hateful  pain,  going  on  and 
on " 

'It  shan't  go  on,"  he  said.  "I've  been  happy,  too. 
I'm  a  changed  man  since  the  hour  I  saw  you  and  loved 


THE  MURMUR  OF  THE  STORM        39 

you.  It's  only  to-day  I've  been  wretched.  Forgive 
me,  Bev — and  God  forgive  you  if " 

"There's  an  'if'  for  you?" 

"No — no,  there's  no  'if'  any  more.  You're  to 
forgive  me that's  all!" 

"Oh,  I  do!  The  hard  thing  would  be  not  to  for- 
give. But — can  we  go  on  being  happy  again,  just 
as  if  nothing  had  happened?" 

"Of  course  we  can,  silly  child.  Nothing  has 
happened."  Roger  had  her  in  his  arms  now.  He 
kissed  her  over  and  over  again,  till  she  gasped  for 
breath.  "This  has  only  cleared  the  air.  As  for 
that  beastly  child,  I  don't  care  if  she's  a  murderess. 
Keep  her  forever,  if  you  choose.  Train  her  as  your 
maid " 

"But  she's  not  'beastly!'  And  she's  not  the  kind 
to  have  for  a  maid.  I  think  she's  a  lady.  She 
seems " 

"Well,  do  whatever  you  like  with  her.  Can  I  go 
further,  to  show  you  I  want  to  atone?" 

"No,  you  can't,  Roger "  Beverley  nestled 

her  face  into  his  neck.  "I  adore  you!" 

She  closed  her  eyes,  but  opening  them  she  hap- 
pened, looking  over  Roger's  shoulder,  to  see  John 
Heron's  letter  on  her  husband's  desk.  A  faint  shiver 
ran  through  her  body,  and  Roger  felt  it. 

"What's  the  matter,  my  darling?"  he  asked. 

"Nothing!"  she  answered.  "A  mouse  ran  over 
my  grave." 


V 
ON  THE  WAY  TO  THE  CAR 

BEVERLEY  found  that  she  could  "be  happy  again, 
as  if  nothing  had  happened"  between  her  and  Roger. 
For  one  thing,  it  was  wonderful  to  feel  that  she  had 
the  power  to  "save"  a  fellow-being,  and  wonderful 
to  be  worshipped  as  Clo  worshipped  her.  Of  course, 
Roger  "worshipped"  her,  too,  but  it  was  Beverley 
who  looked  up  to  him.  Clo  looked  up  to  her.  When 
Beverley  went  into  the  room  presided  over  by  Sister 
Lake,  the  child's  great  black  eyes  dwelt  upon  her  as 
the  eyes  of  a  devotee  upon  the  form  of  a  goddess 
"come  alive."  Roger  Sands'  wife  felt  simply  that 
she  was  repaying  God  for  saving  her,  by  what  she 
was  able  to  do  for  this  Irish  girl. 

As  soon  as  Clo  was  allowed  to  talk  she  insisted 
upon  telling  Beverley  about  herself.  There  was, 
apparently,  no  romance  or  mystery  in  the  story  of 
her  eighteen  years  of  life.  Her  mother  had  died  when 
she  was  less  than  three,  but  Clo  could  "remember 
her  perfectly."  It  wasn't  only  the  photograph  she 
had  (a  badly  taken  one  of  a  young  woman  with  a 
baby  in  her  arms),  but  she  could  see  her  mother's 
colouring.  Oh,  such  lovely  colouring!  Not  dark 
red  hair,  like  her  own,  but  gold,  and  eyes  more  brown 
than  gray.  And  mother  had  been  only  twenty-four 

40 


ON  THE  WAY  TO  THE  CAR  41 

when  she  died.  Clo  had  to  admit  that  most  of  what 
she  knew  of  mother  was  from  the  Sisters  who  looked 
after  the  orphans.  Yes,  it  was  in  an  orphan  asylum 
that  the  child  had  been  brought  up.  About  father 
she  knew  nothing,  except  that  mother  had  "lost" 
him  before  her  baby  was  born,  and  that  he  "came  from 
America."  Evidently  his  name  had  been  Riley,  be- 
cause mother  was  Mrs.  Riley,  and  Clo  was  Clodagh 
because  "that  was  a  name  in  mother's  family." 

The  Sisters  had  been  particularly  kind.  Mother 
had  given  Clo  into  their  care,  because  she  lodged, 
and  had  fallen  ill,  in  the  street  of  the  orphan  asylum. 
There  had  been  a  little  money,  which  was  placed  in 
a  bank  for  the  child.  The  Sisters  had  known  that 
mother  was  a  lady;  but  the  orphan  girls,  when  they 
grew  up,  were  supposed  to  be  put  into  service. 
Neither  Clo  nor  the  Sisters  had  wanted  her  to  be  a 
servant,  and  when  she  was  sixteen  a  situation  was 
found  for  her  as  "companion"  to  an  old  lady.  Clo 
"stuck  it  out"  for  nearly  two  years.  Then  she  ran 
away  and  sailed  for  the  United  States,  her  unknown 
father's  land,  with  the  sixty  pounds  which  was  her 
fortune.  This  money  was  all  spent,  and  she  was 
nearly  starving  when  she  snatched  at  what  she  could 
get  with  Moreton  and  Payntor. 

"But  I  just  couldn't  eat  and  dress  on  my  wages," 
Clo  explained,  in  her  soft,  rich  voice,  rather  deep  for  so 
young  and  small  a  girl,  and  made  creamy  by  a  touch 
of  Irish  brogue.  "One  has  to  do  both  in  New  York. 
I  was  so  hungry  all  the  time,  if  the  girls  left  a  crust 
on  their  plates  I  used  to  hide  it.  I  expect  the  way 


42  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

Fd  look  to  see  if  there'd  be  anything  left  gave  them 
the  idea  I  was  a  sly  piece.  They  thought  I  put  on 
airs,  too.  Me!  P'raps  it  was  my  not  knowing  their 
kind  of  slang.  And  it's  true  I  did  steal  once,  or  al- 
most the  same  thing  as  steal.  There  was  a  dollar  bill 
on  the  floor  under  a  table  one  afternoon.  'Stead  of 
trying  to  find  who  was  the  owner,  I  slipped  it  inside  my 
dress.  I  must  have  been  nearly  off  my  head,  or  I'd 
never  have  done  it,  darling  Mrs.  Sands!  When  the 
time  came  to  go  home  to  my  room  that  night,  I 
didn't  go.  I  went  to  a  restaurant,  and  I  ate.  I  ate 
a  whole  dollar's  worth  of  dinner,  just  so  I  couldn't 
give  any  money  back  if  I  changed  my  mind  next  day. 
Well,  next  day  was  the  day  you  know  of.  And  what 
with  knowing  I  was  a  thief,  and  the  girls  knowing  it, 
too — though  there  was  no  proof — I  thought  the  best 
thing  for  a  lost  child  was  to  die!" 

Beverley  had  by  this  time  "made  everything 
right"  for  Clo  at  Moreton  and  Payntor's.  Indeed, 
Mrs.  Roger  Sands  having  taken  her  up,  she  had  be- 
come quite  a  classic  figure  of  romance  among  her  late 
enemies.  When  Beverley  told  the  girl  that  when 
she  got  well  she  wouldn't  have  to  go,  but  could  stop 
and  be  "a  sort  of  secretary,"  Clo  Riley  almost  had  a 
relapse  from  the  shock  of  joy. 

By  the  end  of  May  Clo's  broken  ribs  had  mended. 
The  first  day  when  she  was  up  and  dressed,  able  to  go 
downstairs,  and  out  for  a  spin  in  the  renovated  blue 
car,  she  was  a  very  different  looking  girl  from  the 
battered  wisp  of  humanity  whose  blood  had  stained 
the  "  robin's-egg"  cloth  and  silk. 


ON  THE  WAY  TO  THE  CAR  43 

It  was  Sunday,  and  Clo  was  burning  with  excite- 
ment. She  was  to  meet  her  Angel's  husband  for  the 
first  time.  She  had  pictured  him  a  dragon.  The 
Angel  loved  him,  but  the  Angel  was  such  a  saint,  and 
would  love  any  old  husband.  Clo  imagined  that 
Beverley  had  been  poor  (she  must  have  known 
poverty  to  be  so  sympathetic!)  and  that  she'd  mar- 
ried an  elderly  man  because — well,  not  entirely  be- 
cause he  was  rich  (that  wouldn't  be  like  an  Angel) 
but  because  she  needed  protection.  Clo  expected  to 
see  a  grumpy  graybeard. 

Roger  expected  to  see  a  washed-out  invalid  of  in- 
definite type,  a  young  woman  of  the  shabbiest  shop- 
girl order. 

What  Clodagh  saw,  when  she  followed  Mrs.  Sands 
into  the  study,  was  a  strong,  dark  man,  not  old  at  all, 
apparently,  and  almost  interesting  enough  in  looks 
to  be  worthy  of  the  Angel.  Still,  she  was  not  sure 
she  was  going  to  like  him. 

What  Roger  saw  was  a  small,  slender  girl,  too 
childish,  too  impish,  to  think  of  as  a  "young  woman." 
She  had  a  little  oval  face  with  a  pointed  chin.  It 
was  pale,  but  not  washed-out,  and  her  lips  were  red. 
An  obstinate,  impudent  mouth,  Roger  thought.  As 
for  her  eyes — he  had  never  seen  such  great  eyes  in  a 
human  face.  They  were  like  holes  in  a  blanket,  so 
big,  so  black,  as  they  stared  up  at  him.  She  had 
curly  auburn  hair,  that  looked  even  redder  than  it 
was,  in  contrast  with  her  eyes.  But  though  the  face 
was  impish,  not  pretty  precisely,  with  its  high  cheek 
bones  and  impertinent  chin,  he  had  to  admit  that  it 


44  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

was  noticeable,  and,  in  some  odd  way,  attractive. 
The  girl  was  charmingly  dressed.  He  might  have 
known  that-Bev  would  see  to  that.  Clo  was  a  sur- 
prise to  him,  as  he  was  to  her.  Each  saw  that  the 
other  was  a  distinct  and  interesting  personality;  and 
Roger  realized  that  Beverley  was  right;  the  girl  had 
the  air  of  being  a  lady.  There  was  something  else 
about  her,  too,  which  piqued  him.  He  could  not  make 
out  what  it  was.  Did  she  look  like  someone  he 
knew? 

He  was  polite,  as  he  had  promised  to  be,  and  called 
Clo  "Miss  Riley."  When  Beverley  said  that  they 
were  going  out  for  the  invalid's  first  drive,  Roger 
replied  that  he  was  glad;  but  Clo,  catching  his  eye? 
fancied  she  saw  a  sarcastic  gleam. 

"He's  thinking  of  the  time  I  came  here  in  that 
same  car,"  she  told  herself.  "I  know  I  must  have 
spoilt  it — got  it  all  messed  up  with  blood.  Probably 
he  had  to  give  a  lot  for  doing  it  over.  And  my  good- 
ness, the  dollars  of  his  that  Angel  has  been  pouring  out 
for  me  every  day  since!  No  wonder  he  looks  sick! 
But  some  day  I  shall  pay.  I  don't  know  how,  only  I 
shall— I  shall!" 

Beverley  and  Clo  went  down  in  the  gorgeously 
decorated  elevator. 

"If  Angel  lived  in  a  garret,  it  would  be  a  palace 
to  me,"  she  reflected. 

A  hall  porter  opened  the  door  of  carved  bronze 
over  glass.  Without  seeming  to  look,  he  took  in 
every  detail  of  the  slim  figure  in  white  cloth;  the 
small  white  hat  tilted- over  the  dark  red  hair,  the 


ON  THE  WAY  TO  THE  CAR  45 

tiny  white  shoes,  the  dainty  ankles  in  silk  stockings. 
Clo  could  have  laughed  aloud.  Of  course,  the  giant 
in  livery  knew  the  whole  story.  He  was  contrasting 
the  way  she  came  out  with  the  way  she  had  come 
in. 

Drawn  up  at  the  pavement  was  the  glittering  blue 
automobile,  with  the  statuesque  Robbins  at  the 
wheel.  Clo  remembered  both,  with  a  queer,  sick 
pang.  She  had  not  been  wholly  unconscious  when 
the  stretcher  was  pushed  into  the  car.  "What  I 
owe  this  darling  woman!"  was  the  thought  she 
breathed  like  a  prayer. 

As  the  two  crossed  the  pavement — tall,  beautiful 
Beverley  and  quaint  little  Clo — a  man  who  must 
have  been  loitering  close  by  started  toward  them 
with  a  limping  step,  and  took  off  his  hat. 

"Is  this  Mrs.  Roger  Sands?"  he  asked. 

Beverley  stopped  short,  within  a  yard  of  her  car. 
For  such  a  graceful,  softly  moving  person,  her  move- 
ment seemed  jerky.  Clo  glanced  from  the  man  to 
Mrs.  Sands  in  surprise.  One  would  say  the  Angel 
looked  frightened,  only  that  would  be  absurd!  Be- 
sides, the  man  wasn't  a  creature  worth  being  afraid 
of.  He  was  short,  and  very  thin,  as  if  he  had  been 
ill.  He  hadn't  a  nice  face.  Sallow  and  sickly  it  was, 
like  a  prison  bird,  with  hollows  under  the  red-rimmed 
eyes.  He  was  badly  lame,  too,  if  he  wasn't  pretend- 
ing; and  altogether,  in  spite  of  her  newly  mended 
ribs,  Clo  felt  that  she  herself  would  be  equal  to 
knocking  him  down. 

"Yes,  I  am  Mrs.  Sands,"  Beverley  answered,  as 


46  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

if  against  her  will.     "I  don't — but  perhaps  someone 
has  sent  you  with  a  message?" 

"In  a  way,  yes,  that's  it,"  said  the  man.  "I  had 
a  message  for  you.  I'm  the  man  sent  to  meet  you  in 
Chicago,  September  21st  of  last  year." 


THERE  was  a  second  of  suspense  for  Clo,  and  then 
Beverley  spoke  quietly: 

"Oh,  I  see!  That's  very  interesting,"  she  said. 
"I  hope — the  news  is  good?" 

"It's  a  long  message,"  the  man  answered.  "I 
was  told  to  let  you  have  it  in  person.  I  thought 
you'd  be  goin'  out  sooner  or  later.  If  your  husban* 
'ad  bin  along,  I'd  have  left  a  line,  but " 

"Never  mind  what  you  would  have  done,  please/* 
Beverley  cut  him  short.  "The  best  thing  I  can 
think  of  now,  is  this"  (she  hurried  on  in  a  low  tone, 
and  Clo  who  had  stepped  aside,  nearer  to  the  car, 
did  not  catch  the  words),  "Take  a  taxi,  and  follow 
my  automobile.  We're  going  into  the  Park.  When 
you  see  us  stop,  you  must  stop  too,  at  a  distance. 

"I  shall  get  out  and  let  the  motor,  with  my  friend 
in  it,  go  on  without  me  for  a  while.  Then  we  can 
talk.  Do  you  understand?" 

"I'll  be  there,"  said  the  man. 

He  touched  his  hat  and  moved  away,  as  if  his 
errand  were  done. 

"Drive  slowly  through  the  Park,"  Beverley  in- 
structed Bobbins,  and  gently  made  Clo  get  into  the 
car  before  her.  "I'm  so  sorry  to  have  kept  you 

47 


48  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

standing,  dear,"  she  said.  "I  hope  you  don't  feel 
weak  or  'tottery'?" 

Clo  did  feel  very  weak,  not  from  fatigue,  but  from 
excitement.  She  replied  that  she  felt ' '  grand . ' '  And 
Mrs.  Sands  forgot  to  say  that  she  was  glad. 

The  girl  glanced  at  the  older  woman,  and  saw  that 
she  was  staring  straight  ahead,  with  a  withdrawn 
look  in  her  eyes,  which  told  that  she  saw  nothing. 
Clo's  heart  beat  fast.  This  drive  was  to  have  been 
a  glorious  experience.  She  had  seen  Central  Park 
more  than  once,  and  had  walked  there,  miserable 
in  her  loneliness.  Now,  though  she  looked  out 
of  the  window,  it  was  to  let  Beverley  feel  that  she 
was  not  being  stared  at.  The  girl  saw  only  a  blur 
of  colour,  as  if  a  kaleidoscope  turned  before  her 
eyes. 

At  last  Beverley  spoke. 

"Dear  child,'*  she  said,  "I'm  sure  you  understand 
that  the  man  who  was  waiting  for  me  brought  a 
message  I'm  anxious  to  hear.  And — I'm  sure  of 
another  thing — that  I  can  trust  you!" 

"I'd  die  any  minute  for  you,  sure  I  would!"  she 
cried. 

"I  believe  you  would!  But  I  don't  want  you  to 
die.  All  I  want  is  for  you  to  listen  while  I  ex- 
plain  " 

"As  if  you  needed  to  explain  to  me!"  the  girl  broke 
out. 

"I  don't  need  to,  perhaps,  yet  I  wish  to  say  just 
this:  I  love  Roger  dearly.  I've  told  you  so  often, 
enough!  I'd  give  anything  on  earth  not  to  have 


THE  PARCEL  WITH  GOLD  SEALS      49 

a  secret  from  him.  But  to  save  a  life — not  my 
own — there  is  a  secret  I  must  keep.  This  man  and 
his  message  are  part  of  it.  Now,  that's  all  I'm 
going  to  explain,  except  that — that  nothing  must 
be  said." 

"I'd  bite  my  tongue  out  sooner!"  Clo  protested. 

"Thank  you,  dear!  Now  we've  had  this  talk,  it's 
a  comfort,  not  a  worry,  having  you  with  me.  You 
won't  mind  if  I  send  you  on  while  I  get  down  and 
walk  in  the  Park?" 

"I'd  love  it!"  said  Clo. 

At  once  Beverley  took  the  speaking  tube  and 
ordered  the  chauffeur  to  stop.  He  drew  up  at  the 
side  of  the  road.  They  were  in  the  midst  of  the 
Park  now,  an  exquisite  green  and  gold  world  of  peace 
and  beauty. 

"I  feel  like  taking  a  little  exercise,"  Beverley  said 
to  Robbins,  as  she  stepped  out  of  the  car.  "Miss 
Riley  isn't  strong  enough  to  walk.  Go  as  far  along 
Riverside  Drive  as  Grant's  Tomb,  and  then  come 
back,  but  slowly,  so  she  can  see  everything.  You'll 
find  me  waiting  here." 

It  seemed  that  Robbins  carried  out  his  instructions 
too  laboriously.  Clo  didn't  like  the  ferret-man, 
and  she  didn't  believe  that  Beverley  liked  meeting 
him. 

When  at  last  Robbins  brought  the  car  back  to  the 
rendezvous  there  was  the  tall  graceful  figure  in  gray, 
standing  alone. 

"Oh,  have  we  kept  you?"  the  girl  cried,  throwing 
open  the  door  before  the  automobile  stopped. 


50  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

Beverley  did  not  answer,  or  seem  to  hear.  She 
did  not  even  look  at  Clo. 

"Home!"  she  said  to  Robbins.  "As  fast  as  you 
can!" 

Clo  was  shocked  into  silence,  and  hardly  breathed 
when  Beverley  had  sunk  on  to  the  seat,  covering  her 
face  with  her  hands.  The  car  had  nearly  reached 
the  Sands'  corner  of  Park  Avenue  before  the  elder 
girl  spoke.  Then  she  sai4  abruptly,  as  if  waking 
from  a  dream: 

"Forgive  me!  I  couldn't  talk!  I'm  in  dreadful 
trouble!  I  must  ask  you  to  help  me.  Are  you 
strong  enough  to  take  a  longer  drive,  and  to  walk  a 
few  steps  alone?" 

"Rather!"  said  Clo. 

"Well,  when  we  stop  in  front  of  our  house,  sit  still 
in  the  car.  I  don't  want  Sister  Lake  or  Roger  to 
know  we're  back.  I'll  run  in,  get  a  parcel  which 
must  be  taken  to  a  certain  place,  and  give  it  to  you. 
Then  Robbins  will  drive  (I'll  tell  him)  to  a  hotel  on 
Broadway,  called  the  Westmorland.  I  never  heard 
of  it  before,  but  it  seems  that  it's  near  33d  Street, 
and  quiet  and  respectable.  Go  into  the  restaurant 
and  order  tea.  While  you're  there,  that  man  you 
saw  will  come  into  the  room,  and  you'll  hand  him  the 
packet.  That's  all." 

"It  sounds  too  easy,"  Clo  said. 

"I  hope  it  will  be  easy.  I'll  bring  you  a  latch-key 
when  I  come  down  with  the  parcel.  Let  yourself 
in  when  you  get  home,  and  go  straight  to  your  room. 
I  don't  want  you  to  fib,  but  try  to  make  it  seem  to 


THE  PARCEL  WITH  GOLD  SEALS      51 

Sister  as  if  we'd  just  come  back.  She'll  think  it 
strange  if  she  knows  I've  sent  you  out  on  an  errand 
by  yourself." 

"She  shan't  know,"  the  girl  promised. 

"You  are  a  comfort!  You  see,  I  told  Roger  I'd 
be  at  home  by  four,  and  I  couldn't  be,  till  long  after 
if  I  took  the  parcel  myself.  I  shall  only  just  be  in 
time  as  it  is.  Here  we  are  at  the  door!  Now  I'll 
rush.  In  five  minutes  I  hope  to  be  with  you  again. 
Oh,  if  only  Sister  Lake  isn't  at  the  window!" 

The  five  minutes  passed,  and  Beverley  didn't 
return.  Clo  watched  the  silver-gilt  clock  under  the 
rase  of  violets.  Ten  minutes;  fifteen  minutes;  no 
Mrs.  Sands!  The  girl  was  wondering  whether  she 
ought  to  wait  indefinitely,  or  seek  her  friend  to  see 
what  had  happened  when  Beverley  appeared.  She 
was  breathless  with  haste. 

"Here,  take  this,  and  do  just  as  I  told  you  to 
do,"  she  said,  thrusting  into  Clo's  hands  a  bag,  not 
a  parcel.  "Inside  you'll  find  what  I  spoke  of,  and 
money  to  pay  for  your  tea.  I  had  to  hide  the  parcel. 
I  can't  stop  to  explain  more  now."  She  turned  to 
the  chauffeur,  and  hastily  ordered  him  to  drive  to  the 
Westmorland  Hotel.  Miss  Riley  had  to  meet  a 
friend  there;  Robbins  must  wait  till  she  was  ready  to 
come  home. 

Only  as  the  car  slowed  down  in  front  of  the  third- 
rate  hotel  did  Clo  touch  the  hasp  of  the  gray  suede 
bag.  It  was  not  locked,  and  save  for  a  crumpled 
dollar  bill,  its  sole  contents  was  a  large,  unaddressed 
envelope  fastened  with  three  gold  seals.  On  each  of 


52  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

these  seals  was  the  same  elaborate  monogram,  which 
Clo  did  not  try  to  make  out;  but  it  was  not  composed 
of  Beverley  Sands'  initials.  Evidently  the  parcel 
had  been  crammed  into  the  first  handy  receptacle, 
for  it  was  all  but  too  big  to  go  in,  and  Clo  found  it 
difficult  to  extract  without  damaging  the  seals. 
Leaving  the  bag  on  the  seat,  she  hid  the  envelope 
under  the  smart,  white  cloth  cape  which  went  with 
her  new  frock. 

The  restaurant  of  the  hotel  opened  off  the  hall. 
At  that  hour,  a  little  after  four  o'clock,  there  was  no 
one  in  the  room  but  a  waiter.  Afternoon  tea  was 
evidently  not  a  daily  custom  of  the  Westmorland's 
guests,  but  when  it  was  brought  at  length,  the  ferret- 
man  had  not  yet  arrived. 

"Oh,  dear,  what  shall  I  do  if  he  doesn't  come?" 
Clodagh  asked  herself,  thinking  fearfully  about  the 
chauffeur — and  about  Sister  Lake. 

Just  then  the  face  of  the  ferret  man  appeared  at 
the  door.  He  glanced  about,  fixed  the  girl  with  his 
red-rimmed  eyes,  slouched  into  the  room,  and  limped 
briskly  to  the  table. 

"Hello!"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  familiar  grin,  and 
pulled  out  a  chair  to  sit  opposite  Clo.  He  kept  on 
his  hat.  His  breath  reeked  spirits,  and  the  girl  was 
disgusted,  but  she  was  the  faithful  servant  of  Mrs. 
Sands,  and  the  waiter  was  staring. 

"Here's  the  parcel  Mrs.  Sands  sent.  She  par- 
ticularly wanted  me  to  get  back  as  soon  as  possible." 

The  long  envelope,  with  the  gold  seals  uppermost, 
was  lying  on  the  table.  Clo  removed  a  napkin  she 


THE  PARCEL  WITH  GOLD  SEALS      53 

had  laid  over  it,  and  pushed  the  parcel  across  the 
table.  As  she  did  this  she  rose. 

"Looks  right  enough!"  remarked  the  ferret  man, 
sitting  still.  "This  is  what  she  told  me  to  expect: 

long  white  envelope,  three  gold  seals "  He 

picked  the  parcel  up,  holding  it  to  his  sharp  nose  and 
near-sighted  eyes.  "Yeh,  munergram,  or  what  yuh 
call  it,  right,  too." 

"Then  that's  all,"  said  Clo,  Beverley's  dollar  bill 
in  her  hand.  "I'll  call  the  waiter " 

"Don't  be  too  previous,  cutie,  if  you  please!"  and 
a  not  immaculate  hand  helped  itself  to  a  fold  of  her 
dress.  "Yuh  an*  me  ain't  workin'  this  show  on  our 
own.  You're  for  Mrs.  Sands,  I'm  fur — well,  I'm  fur 
someone  I  guess  is  even  more  particular  than  her. 
It's  as  much  as  my  job's  worth  to  let  yuh  make  your 
get-away  till  I've  had  a  squint  inside  this  yere  en- 
velup." 

"Mrs.  Sands  didn't  tell  me  there  was  anything  to 
wait  for  after  I'd  put  it  in  your  hands,"  Clo  objected. 
"Idon'tsee- 

"It's  me  that's  got  to  see.  Now  yuh  keep  yer 
hair  on,  gurlie,  while  I  lamp  this  thing.  No  good 
tryin'  the  sneak  game,  because  I'd  be  on  to  yuh  like 
a  thousand  o'  brick  before  yuh'd  took  a  step " 

"I've  no  intention  of  running  away,"  Clo  assured 
him,  with  a  dignity  copied  from  her  idol.  "Mrs. 
Sands  has  nothing  to  hide." 

The  man  chuckled,  as  with  a  knife  taken  from  the 
table  he  opened  the  envelope  without  breaking  the 
seals.  He  did  this  slowly.  Clo  sat  down  again. 


54  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

The  ugly  hands  drew  out  from  the  envelope  another 
smaller  envelope.  There  were  no  seals  on  it,  but  the 
flap  was  stuck  with  gum.  The  man  swore  under  his 
breath  as  he  used  the  knife  again.  Clo  was  deeply 
interested.  Her  idea  was  that  the  fellow  would 
pull  out  a  quantity  of  greenbacks;  but  in  an  instant 
she  saw  that  she  had  guessed  wrong.  There  were 
many  sheets  of  paper  folded  together,  at  least  a 
dozen,  and  this  seemed  to  astound  the  man.  With 
a  jerk  he  opened  out  the  sheaf  of  papers,  and  having 
stared  an  instant,  slammed  them  on  to  the  table. 
"  Curse  her,  she  thought  she'd  do  us,  did  she?  "  The 
words  tumbled  out  between  his  brown,  broken  teeth, 
as  he  dashed  his  fist  on  to  the  papers.  "So  this  is 
why  she  sent  you — you  catspaw!" 

Clo  was  far  from  being  a  coward.  Her  hot,  defiant 
temper  rose  at  the  least  alarm,  but  she  was  so  amazed 
at  the  result  of  her  errand  that  she  was  struck 
dumb.  Mechanically  her  eyes  had  turned  to  the 
papers.  She  saw  that  the  upper  sheets  consisted  of 
blank  stationery  taken  from  a  train,  the  Santa  Fe 
Limited. 

"If  you're  trying  to  scare  me,  you  can't,"  she  said. 
"You're  acting  like  a  fool.  If  something's  gone 
wrong  in  your  business,  it  isn't  my  fault,  and  I'm 
sure  it  isn't  Mrs.  Sands.  If  there's  a  trick,  she's 
tricked,  too.  Try  to  have  common  sense." 

The  girl's  fearless  gaze  and  quickly  spoken  words 
calmed  the  man. 

"It's  darned  rot  to  say  my  lady  who  stayed  at 
home  ain't  in  the  trick.  Why,  dumbhead,  this  paper 


THE  PARCEL  WITH  GOLD  SEALS      55 

shows!  She  was  on  board  the  Limited.  Gee! 
Don't  I  have  cause  to  know  that?  It's  easy  as  slidin' 
off  a  log  to  see  what  she  done.  She  helped  herself  to 
what  was  in  this  yere  envelope,  an'  filled  it  with 
train  stationery.  Then  she  sealed  it  up  with  the 
same  kind  o'  seals.  Stole  the  stamp  and  wax  OIL 
purpose.  Thought  she  could  get  away  with  it.  I 
take  off  my  hat  to  her." 

"I  know  nothing  except  that  I  agreed  to  bring 
the  parcel,"  said  Clo. 

"You  go  back  to  her  ladyship  as  fast  as  you  can 
scamper,  and  tell  her  I  wasn't  soft  enough  to  bow 
myself  off  the  stage  without  peepin*  at  what  Santa 
Glaus  had  put  in  my  stockin'.  Tell  her  'twould 
only  o'  bin  a  matter  o'  time  if  I  hadn't  peeped.  As 
it  is,  it's  a  matter  o'  less  time.  Tell  her  a  life  will 
pay  for  this,  and  she  jolly  well  knows  whose! " 

The  man  had  ceased  to  bluster,  and  now  that  he 
had  got  himself  in  hand  again  his  fierce  eyes  and  his 
low,  hissing  voice  thrilled  the  girl  as  his  threats  had 
not  thrilled  her.  This  time  he  allowed  her  to  rise, 
which  she  did,  tottering  slightly.  She  had  forgotten 
about  paying  for  her  tea,  but  the  dollar  bill  lay  in  a 
crumpled  wad  on  the  table.  The  man  placed  one  of 
his  oddly  repulsive  hands  over  it. 

"I'll  see  to  the  waiter,"  he  said.  "I'm  stayin* 
in  this  hotel.  You  cut  along  and  tell  your  lady  friend 
she's  got  till  ten  o'clock  to-night  to  explain  herself, 
not  a  minute  more.  Good  day  to  you,  Miss  Baby 
Doll!" 

Without  answering,  Clo  walked  out  of  the  room, 


56  .     THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

ashamed  that  her  knees  were  weak,  and  hoping  that 
she  could  get  safely  to  the  car  without  making  a  fool 
of  herself.  Physically,  it  was  a  great  relief  to  lie 
back  against  the  soft  cushions  of  robin's  egg  blue, 
and  shut  her  eyes.  What  would  Angel  do  when 
she  heard  how  dreadfully  the  errand  had  failed? 

Clo  had  forgotten  the  difficulty  of  making  Sister 
Lake  believe,  without  a  fib,  that  she  and  Mrs.  Sands 
had  only  just  come  in  from  their  drive  to'gether. 
But  she  remembered  as  she  went  up  in  the  elevator. 
It  was  very  late  now — long  after  five.  Sister  was 
sure  to  be  cross;  but  if  she  were  cross  only  with  Clo, 
and  not  Mrs.  Sands,  that  wouldn't  matter. 

Few  things  work  out  according  to  expectations. 
Sister  Lake  had  been  at  the  window,  it  seemed,  when 
the  car  brought  back  Mrs.  Sands  and  Clo  before 
four  o'clock,  and  had  been  alarmed  when  the  former 
descended  to  hurry  alone  into  the  house. 

"I  was  afraid  you'd  fainted,"  she  said  when  Clo 
arrived  at  last.  "I  flew  out  of  this  room  to  go  down 
in  the  elevator,  and  bumped  into  Mr.  Sands  in  the 
hall,  and  while  I  was  apologizing  and  making  him 
understand  she  appeared  on  the  scene." 

"  My  goodness,  the  fat  is  in  the  fire ! ' '  Clo  thought 
desperately.  Aloud  she  said:  "Well?" 

"She  said  you  wanted  to  go  to  tea  with  someone, 
and  she  was  hurrying  to  her  room  to  get  money  for 
you,  so  that  you  could  stand  treat.  I  objected,  as  I 
had  a  right  to  do,"  went  on  Sister  Lake.  "You're 
still  my  patient,  if  my  time  is  up  to-morrow.  And  if 
you  have  a  relapse  I  shall  be  in  a  nice  fix,  as  I'm  due 


THE  PARCEL  WITH  GOLD  SEALS      57 

at  Mrs.  Jardine's  Tuesday  morning!  Mrs.  Sands 
really  acted  very  queer,  she  was  so  determined  you 
should  go.  Even  when  her  husband  backed  me  up, 
she  was  as  obstinate  as — as — if  she  wasn't  such  a 
sweet  woman,  I  should  say  a  pig!" 

"It  was  my  fault,"  pleaded  Clo.  "I'm  not  tired 
a  bit."  Yet  as  she  argued,  a  voice  was  saying  inside 
her  head:  "No  wonder  the  poor  darling  was  a  long 
time  coming  down  with  the  parcel!" 

But  this,  though  exciting  enough,  was  as  naught 
beside  the  great  question:  "What  would  Beverley 
say,  what  would  she  feel,  when  Clo  had  to  confess 
all  that  had  happened  at  the  Hotel  Westmorland?" 


vn 

THE  QUEEN'S  PEARLS 

ROGER  also  had  a  secret  that  Sunday.  He  waited 
for  Beverley  and  Clo  to  be  gone  (reminding  his  wife 
that  she  had  promised  to  be  back  by  four)  and  then 
called  up  the  Belmont  Hotel  by  telephone. 

"Give  me  Count  Lovoresco's  room,"  he  said,  and 
presently  a  foreign  conception  of  the  word  "Hello!" 
rumbled  through  the  receiver. 

"Hello,  Count,"  Roger  replied,  recognizing  the 
voice.  "My  wife's  safely  off.  I'll  send  my  own  car 
round  at  once.  Now  you've  got  the  letter  of  confir- 
mation we  can  settle  our  business.  What?  You're 
ready?  Thank  you.  My  man'll  be  at  the  hotel  as 
soon  as  you  can  get  down.  Good-bye." 

Fifteen  minutes  later  a  dark,  dapper,  elderly  man 
with  magnificent  eyes  was  ushered  into  Roger's  study. 

"You've  brought  the  pearls,  of  course?"  Roger 
asked. 

"Yes,  Mistaire  Sand,  I  bring  ze  pearls,"  announced 
Count  Lovoresco. 

"And  the  letter  from  the  Queen?" 

"From  'er  Majesty's  secretaire,"  Count  Lovoresco 
corrected.  "'Ere  it  is."  He  drew  from  a  breast 
pocket  a  square  envelope  with  a  crown  and  a  mono- 
gram on  the  flap.  This  he  handed  to  Sands,  and  as 

58 


59 

the  latter  opened  it,  he  took  from  another  pocket  a 
purple  velvet  box,  oval  in  shape,  about  eight  inches 
long  by  two  in  height.  On  the  cover  appeared  a 
gold  crown,  and  the  same  monogram  as  that  of  the 
envelope.  Roger  had  seen  this  box  and  its  contents; 
so,  instead  of  watching  a  tiny  gold  key  fitted  into  a 
miniature  padlock,  he  read  the  letter  authorizing 
Count  Lovoresco,  in  the  name  of  his  Queen,  to  sell 
in  America  a  rope  of  pearls,  for  the  benefit  of  the 
soldiers*  orphans  of  her  country. 

"This  clears  the  deck,"  remarked  Roger.  The 
cover  of  the  oval  box  was  raised,  and  lying  in  a  series 
of  concentric  grooves  he  saw  the  pearls  which  he 
intended  to  buy  for  Beverley.  They  were  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  in  number,  as  he  knew,  and  were 
graduated  in  size,  the  largest  being  as  big  as  a  giant 
pea.  All  were  exquisitely  matched  in  shape  and 
colour,  and  the  one  fault — if  fault  existed — was  a 
blue  whiteness  disliked  by  some  connoisseurs. 
Roger  was  aware,  however,  that  Beverley  loved 
snow-white  pearls. 

"Any  minute  Simon  Lecourt  may  be  here,"  he 
said  to  Lovoresco.  "When  he's  looked  at  the  things, 
I'll  sign  and  hand  you  my  cheque  for  two  hundred 
and  sixty  thousand  dollars." 

Lovoresco  smiled  under  his  dyed  moustache,  but 
the  wonderful  eyes,  for  which  men  of  his  race  are 
famous,  lit  angrily. 

"You  are  ze  most  prudent  of  gentlemen!"  he  ex- 
claimed. "Your  great  Franco-American  pearl  ex- 
pert, 'e  'as  valued  ze  pearls  one  time  already  at  'is  own 


60  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

place,  under  your  eye,  Mistaire  Sand.  Now  *e  'as 
to  come  to  your  *ouse!  Mazette!  But  you  must 
tink  me  a  smart  one,  salre,  if  I  could  change  false 
tings  for  real  in  ze  last  minute!'* 

"I  think  some  other  smart  men  might  have 
changed  them  without  you  or  me  being  smart  enough 
to  know  the  difference,"  Roger  explained.  "I  be- 
lieve in  making  a  ship  watertight  before  she  goes  to 
sea." 

"You  are  right,'*  Lovoresco  said,  shrugging  his 
shoulders.  "I  am  pleased  once  more  to  meet  ze 
expert.'* 

"Mr.  Simon  Lecourt,"  announced  the  butler. 

At  a  quarter  to  four — the  cheque  having  been 
signed — Roger  was  shaking  hands  with  the  jewel 
expert  he  had  summoned,  and  bowing  to  Count 
Lovoresco.  The  pearls  were  his,  and  he  was  im- 
patient for  Beverley.  In  five  or  six  minutes  she 
ought  to  arrive. 

Beverley  stepped  into  the  lift  as  Count  Lovoresco 
and  Simon  Lecourt  stepped  out.  As  they  passed 
she  heard  Roger's  name,  and  her  heart  jumped. 
These  were  strangers  to  her,  but  they  had  perhaps 
been  calling  on  Roger.  What  if  they  were  connected 
with  the  past  terror  which  had  begun  lately  to  seem 
as  dim  as  a  dreadful  dream?  What  if  they  had  been 
telling  Roger? 

Such  a  thought  would  not  have  come,  save  for  the 
scene  she  had  gone  through.  With  her  nerves  keyed 
to  breaking  point  she  went  up  to  her  own  floor  with 
somewhat  the  sensation  she  might  have  had  in  step- 


THE  QUEEN'S  PEARLS  61 

ping  from  the  tumbril  to  the  guillotine.  It  was  all 
she  could  do  not  to  scream  at  Sister  Lake  in  the  hall; 
and  when  Roger  appeared  also  it  seemed  to  Beverley 
that  she  would  faint. 

Roger  did  not  share  the  nurse's  interest  in  Clo's 
outing;  but  he  wanted  Beverley. 

"Good  girl!"  he  exclaimed,  trying  to  be  gay. 
"You're  back  ahead  of  time.  Send  one  of  the  ser- 
vants down  with  money  for  Miss  Riley.  Come  into 
the  study;  I've  got  something  to  show  you.  When 
you've  seen  it  you'll  know  why  I  asked  you  to  be 
home  by  four." 

"I'll  be  there  in  a  minute!"  Beverley  answered. 
"Let  me  take  off  my  hat  first.  I've  rather  a  head- 
ache!" 

She  turned  toward  her  room,  hoping  that  Roger 
would  wait  in  the  study,  thus  giving  her  a  chance  to 
find  what  she  had  to  find,  and  take  it  to  Clo  in  the 
waiting  auto.  But  Roger,  remorseful  already  for 
his  disloyal  thought  connecting  her  with  O'Reilly, 
followed. 

"If  you'd  a  prophetic  soul,"  he  said,  "your  head- 
ache would  go.  Are  you  good  at  guessing,  Bev.?"  -• 

The  girl  was  at  her  wits'  end.  Already  she  had 
almost  fibbed,  in  explaining  Clo's  errand.  If  only, 
now,  she  could  have  five  minutes'  grace! 

"You  ought  to  know  I  never  guess  anything 
right!"  she  laughed.  "It's  not  quite  four.  Show 
me  the  wonderful  thing  just  as  the  clock  strikes!" 

Roger  pulled  out  his  watch.  "All  right,  baby!" 
he  teased  her.  "You've  got  just  three  minutes  and 


62  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

a  half.  Perhaps  you  think  a  woman  needs  that 
time  to  take  off  her  hat;  I'll  show  you  you're  wrong! " 

He  neatly  extracted  a  hat  pin  which  Beverley  had 
twisted  into  her  veil.  Then  off  came  the  hat.  Roger 
led  his  wife  by  the  hand  to  the  door  of  his  study. 
Beverley  was  in  despair.  Her  one  cause  for  thank- 
fulness lay  in  the  fact  that  he  had  forgotten  Clo. 
If  he'd  remembered  to  send  down  money,  the  girl 
would  have  been  bewildered,  and  perhaps  have  come 
in  to  ask  for  instructions.  There  was  room  in  Bever- 
ley's  brain  for  no  other  thought  than  "How  am  I  to 
get  that  parcel  and  give  it  to  Clo?" 

"Shut  your  eyes,"  said  Roger.  "The  clock's  go- 
ing to  strike  four  now;  don't  open  your  eyes  till  it 
stops." 

Beverley  obeyed,  as  in  that  mood  she  would  have 
obeyed  an  order  to  stand  still  and  be  shot  through 
the  heart.  "One — two,"  slowly  struck  the  grand- 
father clock  in  the  corner;  and  she  felt  something 
cool  and  heavy  dropped  over  her  neck.  "Three — 
four!"  the  clock  finished.  "Open  your  eyes,"  Roger 
gave  the  signal. 

"Oh!"  cried  Beverley,  almost  aghast.  On  lier 
delicate  gray  dress  the  double  line  of  pearls  glistened 
like  huge  drops  of  dew  on  a  spider-web.  The  rope 
hung  down  below  her  waist,  and  each  pearl  had  a 
light  in  its  heart  as  if  it  held  the  ghost  of  a  rainbow. 
"It  can't  be  true!  It's  a  dream!"  the  girl  stam- 
mered. She  loved  pearls,  and  knew  that  these  were 
marvels  beyond  common  knowledge.  But  oh,  if  they 
could  have  come  to  her  at  another  time! 


THE  QUEEN'S  PEARLS  63 

She  managed,  however,  to  put  a  world  of  emotion 
into  one  kiss  and  clasp  of  her  arms.  Her  silent 
anguish  was  disguised  as  awe.  By  this  time  she  had 
an  inspiration.  She  felt  like  the  Queen  of  New  York, 
she  said.  She  must  run  to  her  room  for  a  look  in  the 
glass,  as  there  was  only  a  weird  old  convex  mirror 
in  the  study.  In  just  a  minute — or  maybe  two 
minutes — she  would  come  back.  She  could  have 
sobbed  out  "Thank  God!"  when  Roger,  laughing  at 
her  vanity,  let  her  go.  This  time  he  did  not  follow. 
He  stood  examining  the  purple  velvet  case  with  the 
Queen's  crown  and  monogram.  He  had  not  told 
Beverley  the  price  he  had  given  for  the  pearls.  He 
wondered  if  she  guessed  that  they  had  cost  a  fortune. 
Why  didn't  she  come  back? 

Beverley  had  not  even  thrown  a  glance  at  the 
mirror.  In  her  own  room  she  tore  open  the  drawer 
where  her  handkerchiefs  were  kept  in  rose-scented 
sachet  cases.  The  largest  of  these  cases  she  snatched, 
throwing  the  contents  back  into  the  drawer.  With 
fingers  that  shook,  she  ripped  the  top  of  the  padded 
silk  cushion,  and  extracted  a  long  envelope  sealed  with 
three  gold  seals.  She  would  hardly  have  remembered 
the  Queen's  pearls  had  the  rope  not  caught  in  the  key 
of  the  drawer  as  she  turned  hastily  to  go.  Before  she 
could  save  it,  the  string  broke,  and  pearls  big  as  peas 
began  falling  like  hailstones. 

With  a  cry,  she  caught  the  broken  ends  of  the  rope 
together,  dragged  it  over  her  head  and  bundled  it 
into  the  drawer  among  scattered  handkerchiefs. 
She  did  not  even  stop  to  close  the  drawer.  As  for  the 


64  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

fallen  pearls — a  dozen  at  least — there  was  no  time 
to  think  of  them,  or  of  what  Roger  would  say  when 
he  heard  of  the  accident. 

Crushing  on  her  hat,  which  still  lay  on  the  bed 
where  Roger  had  thrown  it,  she  ran  from  the  room, 
stuffing  the  envelope  into  her  handbag.  Luck  fa- 
voured her.  She  got  out  of  the  flat  and  into  the  lift 
without  being  seen. 

When  five  minutes  had  passed  and  Beverley  was 
still  away,  Roger  decided  to  join  her.  He  opened 
the  bedroom  door,  and  looked  in.  Something  rolled 
away  from  Roger's  foot  on  the  threshold.  He 
stooped  and  picked  the  thing  up:  it  was  an  enormous 
pearl. 

A  shock  of  fear  thrilled  through  him.  He  thought 
that  news  of  his  purchase  might  already  have  reached 
the  underworld.  In  these  few  minutes,  while  he 
calmly  waited  for  Beverley,  she  might  have  been 
murdered.  Things  like  that  did  happen.  He 
stepped  on  a  second  pearl,  and  saw  that  others  lay 
on  the  pale  rose  carpet.  He  stood  staring.  At  the 
foot  of  the  bed  a  tall  screen  had  been  placed  to  keep 
the  light  from  Beverley's  eyes  in  the  morning.  What 
if  behind  it  he  should  find  her  lying? 

As  he  braced  himself  to  go  and  look,  Beverley  her- 
self came  into  the  room.  It  seemed  that  she  shrank 
at  sight  of  him. 

"I  thought  you'd  been  kidnapped  or  killed!" 
he  gasped.  "What's  happened?" 

"N-n-nothing,"  she  stammered.  "It  was  only — - 
we  forgot  about  Clo — I  had  to  take  her  that  money. 


THE  QUEEN'S  PEARLS  65 

I -"  She  broke  off,  seeing  the  pearl  In  Roger's 

hand.  "Oh,  wasn't  it  dreadful  that  the  rope 
snapped?"  she  hurried  on.  "I  wanted  to  get  back 
to  you  quickly.  I  knew  the  pearls  were  safe  here. 
I  just  shut  the  door,  and  ran  down." 

'"So  I  see,"  Roger  said  drily.     All  the  joy  he  had 
felt  in  his  splendid  gift  was  gone. 

"What  are  a  few  pearls  more  or  less  compared  to 
Miss  Riley's  convenience?" 

"Oh,  Roger!"  Beverley  burst  into  tears.  "Don't 
look  at  me  like  that!  Don't  speak  to  me  like  that! 
You  think  I  don't  value  the  pearls  ?  I  do ! — for  them- 
selves, and  for  your  love!  I  acted  on  impulse— 

"Quite  so.  You've  done  that  before.  Don't 
apologize,  my  dear  girl.  It's  not  worth  it.  I  care 
less  for  the  things  than  you  do.  Ring  for  your  maid 
and  let  her  sweep  them  up.  I  dare  say  she'll  find  them 
all  to-day  or  to-morrow!" 

"No,"  said  Beverley,  fighting  back  the  hysterical 
sobs  that  choked  her.  "No,  I  won't  have  any- 
one look  for  the  pearls  but  myself.  Unless  you, 
Roger,  would  show  your  forgiveness  by  helping 
me?" 

"I  have  an  appointment,"  he  answered.  "I'm 
late  for  it  now.  I  shall  have  to  go  at  once." 

It  was  not  true.  He  had  no  appointment.  But 
he  felt  that  he  must  be  alone,  and  out  of  doors,  in  the 
fresh  air. 

Clo  Riley,  returning  from  her  errand  at  the  Hotel 
Westmorland,  did  not  see  him  as  she  tripped  from 
car  to  door,  but  Roger  on  his  way  home  saw  the  girl 


66  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

hurry  in  as  if  each  second  were  important.  Hardly 
had  she  vanished  when  a  man  strolled  round  the 
corner.  He  was  walking  slowly,  and  looking  up  at 
the  fagade  as  if  interested.  Roger,  at  the  farther  end 
of  the  block,  recognized  Justin  O'Reilly. 


vm 

BEVERLEY  TALKS 

CLO  remembered  Beverley's  instructions,  and  went 
straight  to  her  own  room,  but  the  threat  of  the  ferret- 
man  rang  in  her  ears.  "Tell  your  lady  friend  a  life 
will  pay  for  this.  She's  got  till  ten  o'clock  to-night, 
and  not  a  minute  more." 

It  was  now  after  five,  and  Sister  Lake  was  firmly 
bent  upon  undressing  her  charge.  Clo  had  to  let 
herself  be  tucked  into  bed.  Meekly  also  she  received 
the  order  to  lie  quite  still  and  rest  till  dinner 
time. 

Rest!  As  though  she  could  rest,  not  knowing 
what  ought  to  be  done  next  to  help  the  Angel!  A 
passive  plan  occurred  to  Clo,  which  could  do  no  harm, 
and  her  quick  wit  suggested  how  best  to  carry  it  out. 

"I'll  be  as  good  as  gold,"  she  promised,  "if  you'll 
forgive  me,  Sister,  and  do  me  a  favour.  I  feel  sick 
because  I  spoilt  your  afternoon!  You  stayed  in, 
waiting  for  me  to  come  back,  instead  of  taking  your 
walk.  Will  you  go  out  now,  instead?  I'll  rest  better 
if  you  will.  Do,  please!" 

All  Clo's  Irish  powers  of  persuasion  were  needed 
to  coax  Sister  into  consenting.  Eventually  she 
relented.  Clo  could  have  sung  for  joy  as  Sister  Lake 
bade  her  "good-bye  for  an  hour."  As  the  door  of 

67 


98  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

the  room  closed,  the  girl  began  counting  the  seconds 
which  must  pass  before  the  outer  door  shut. 

"Sixty-two — sixty-three — she  ought  to  be  gone!" 
Clo  was  whispering,  when  her  heart  sank.  The  room 
door  opened.  She  feared  that  Sister  Lake  had 
changed  her  mind;  but  it  was  the  Angel  who  came  in. 

"I  was  racking  my  brain  how  to  get  rid  of  Sister 
when  I  saw  her  go  out,"  Beverley  said.  "I'm  sure 
you  managed  it.  I've  been  desperate.  You  can't 
think  what  things  have  happened!  Tell  me,  did  all 
go  well?" 

The  blow  must  be  struck.  In  a  few  words  Clo 
described  the  scene  at  the  Westmorland;  told  how 
the  ferret-man  had  kept  her  waiting;  how  he  had  said 
that  the  envelope  looked  all  right,  but  had  insisted 
upon  opening  it;  how  he  had  flown  into  a  rage  at  find- 
ing only  folded  sheets  of  blank  paper. 

"Blank  paper!"  Beverley  gasped.  "But  that's 
impossible!  I  know  what  was  in  the  envelope. 
There  were  letters.  The  man  must  have  tricked 
you." 

Clo  shook  her  head. 

"I  was  watching  him.  He  had  no  time,  or  chance, 
to  play  a  trick.  The  blank  paper  was  there,  and 
nothing  else.  It  was  writing  paper,  quite  a  lot  of 
sheets  that  seemed  to  have  been  taken  from  some 
train,  'Santa  Fe  Limited,'  or  a  name  like  that." 

Beverley  gave  a  cry,  as  if  she  had  been  struck  over 
the  heart. 

"Let  me  think,"  she  groaned.  "How  can  that 
have  been?  Writing  paper  taken  from  the  train?" 


BEVERLEY  TALKS  69 

Suddenly  she  turned,  and  came  back  to  the  bed, 
putting  out  her  hands  in  a  groping  way  to  Clo.  The 
girl  caught  and  held  them  tightly.  They  were  very 
cold. 

"Angel!  is  there  nothing  I  can  do?"  she  whispered. 

Beverley  sank  on  the  bed  once  more. 

"My  head  feels  as  if  I'd  been  given  ether,"  she 
said.  "I  can't  think  things  out  clearly.  That  isn't 
like  me!  A  terrible  day!  One  shock  after  another. 
If  I  talk  to  you,  will  you  swear  by  all  that's  sacred 
never  to  give  away  one  word?" 

"I  swear  by  my  love  for  you.  That's  the  most 
sacred  thing  I  have,  except  my  locket  with  mother's 
picture,"  the  girl  answered. 

"You  see,"  Beverley  went  on,  "I've  no  one  else 
but  you,  Clo.  If  I  told  my  husband  anything,  I 
should  have  to  tell  all.  I  daren't  do  that.  Not  be- 
cause I  couldn't  trust  him.  But  I've  taken  an  oath 
ten  times  more  solemn  than  the  one  you  took  just 
now,  to  keep  a  secret  that  isn't  only  mine.  Another's 
life  depends  on  the  secret  being  kept.  To  save  that 
life  I  was  forced  to  do  what  I  hate  to  think  of.  And 
it's  no  concern  of  yours,  but  it  would  be  Roger's 
if  he  had  the  faintest  inkling !  Now,  I'm  going  to  tell 
you  one  or  two  things,  and  you  must  use  your  brains 
to  explain  the  mystery.  You're  clever,  and  true  as 
steel.  You've  proved  that!  Suppose  a  case;  sup- 
pose you'd  undertaken  a  dangerous  mission.  You 
have  in  your  charge  some  documents  which  could 
make  or  break  a  man.  You  know  you'll  be  followed. 
You  nearly  miss  your  train,  but  you  jump  on  board 


70  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

at  the  last  minute.  You  see  a  man — not  the  one  you 
expect,  but  another  just  as  much  to  be  feared — more, 
perhaps,  because  he's  a  great  deal  cleverer,  if  not  so 
violent.  You  think  you're  lost,  but  you  find  a  friend, 
a  man  who  helps  you.  You  give  him  the  envelope 
that  has  the  papers  in  it — a  sealed  envelope.  You've 
seen  it,  Clo!  He  keeps  it  through  the  journey.  At 
a  stopping  place  on  the  way  he  offers  to  hand  it  back 
to  you,  but  you  refuse.  You  feel  that  the  thing  is 
safer  with  him.  Later,  in  New  York,  he  returns  the 
envelope  intact,  the  seals  unbroken.  This  friend  who 
comes  to  the  rescue  is  the  soul  of  honour.  Never 
since  that  moment  has  the  envelope  been  out  of  your 
own  keeping.  Yet  it  is  opened  to-day  for  the  first 
time,  and  the  papers  that  were  in  it  are  gone,  changed 
for  stationery  of  that  train,  the  'Santa  Fe  Limited.' 
How  can  this  have  been  done?  Who  did  it?" 

"The  other  man  must  have  done  it,  the  one  who 
followed  you  on  to  the  train." 

"But  he  was  never  near  Rog  .  .  .  never  near 
the  man  who  .  .  .  oh,  I  might  as  well  tell  you 
right  out  that  it  was  Roger  who  kept  the  envelope 
for  me.  I'll  tell  you  the  name  of  the  other  man,  too. 
It's  sure  to  slip  out!  His  name  is  Justin  O'Reilly." 

"O'Reilly?"  Clo  echoed.  "How  dare  the  brute 
have  a  name  like  mine?" 

"Why,  so  it  is  like,"  said  Beverley.  "But  there's 
an  *O,'  and  he  spells  it  differently." 

"Beast!  He'd  better,  or  I'd  have  to  change," 
snapped  Clo.  "Well,  whatever  his  name  is,  I 
believe  he  must  have  stolen  your  papers.  Can 


BEVERLEY  TALKS  71 

you  go  back,  and  live  over  again  every  step  of  the 

way?" 

Beverley  shut  her  eyes,  and  began  to  think  aloud. 
"The  morning  after  we  started  Roger  mentioned 
meeting  an  acquaintance  ...  a  man  named 
O'Reilly.  He  didn't  dream  the  name  meant  any- 
thing to  me.  They  exchanged  only  a  few  words 
when  Roger  passed  O'Reilly's  table  at  breakfast  time. 
Nothing  could  have  happened  then,  I  know.  After- 
ward, I  never  heard  of  their  meeting  again  through 
the  whole  journey.  I  should  have  heard,  if  they  had, 
I  think.  Roger  was  with  me  a  good  deal.  At 
Chicago. — Let  me  see!  .  .  . 

"I'm  calling  it  back  to  my  mind.  Roger  helped 
me  out  of  the  train.  O'Reilly  was  out  already.  He 
stood  on  the  platform,  looking  for  someone — or  so  it 
seemed.  We  went  quite  close  to  him,  but  not  close 
enough  for  even  the  smartest  pickpocket  in  America 
to  steal  the  envelope  from  Roger." 

"Where  was  the  envelope  then?"  the  girl  wanted 
to  know. 

"In  an  inside  breastpocket  of  Roger's  coat;  not 
an  overcoat.  It  was  September.  The  weather  was 
hot." 

"Wouldn't  it  be  easy  for  any  one  looking  for  the 
envelope  to  see  that  Mr.  Sands  had  something  thick 
and  long  in  an  inside  breast  pocket,  and  suspect  what 
it  was?" 

"Any  one  might  suspect.  No  one  could  be  sure. 
It  would  have  shown  more  plainly  if  Roger  had  worn 
his  coat  buttoned.  He  didn't,  on  purpose." 


72  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

"Still,  his  coat  not  being  buttoned  would  make  it 
easier  to  steal  the  envelope,  if  somebody  very  clever 
got  a  chance  to  try." 

"Perhaps.  But  O'Reilly  could  never  have  done 
such  a  thing.  It  would  take  a  trained  thief." 

"Can  people  send  off  telegrams  from  those  Limited 
trains?"  Clo  took  up  her  catechism  again. 

"Yes,  of  course  they  can." 

"Would  there  have  been  time  for  this  O'Reilly 
chap  to  wire  Chicago,  after  he  followed  you  on  board 
the  train,  and  have  a  man  meet  him?  " 

"Yes,  plenty  of  time." 

"Well,  what  if  he  wired  to  some  detective  people, 
and  told  them  to  send  him  the  'smartest  pickpocket 
in  America'?" 

"But  .  .  .  the  police  couldn't  .  .  . 
wouldn't  .  .  .  do  such  a  thing!" 

"I  don't  mean  the  real  police,"  Clo  explained. 
"Haven't  you  often  read  books  about  private  detec- 
tives? I  have.  They  might  get  reformed  thieves 
to  work  for  them.  Can  you  remember  what  O'Reilly 
did  next,  after  you  both  passed  him  on  the  platform?  " 

"No.    I  didn't  look  back." 

"You  don't  know,  then,  whether  the  person  he 
seemed  to  expect  ever  turned  up?" 

Beverley  shook  her  head.  "Roger  and  I  went 
straight  ahead  to  a  newsstand  where  /  expected  to 
meet  a  person.  Two  or  three  minutes  after  we  passed 
O'Reilly  we  were  mixed  up  in  a  big  crowd,  almost 
fighting  our  way  through.  .  .  ." 

"Oh,  a  big  crowd!"     Clo  broke  in.     "A  chance 


BEVERLEY  TALKS  73 

for  that  pickpocket.  Suppose  he  came  the  minute 
you  had  turned  your  backs  on  O'Reilly,  and  he  sent 
his  trained  thief  after  you,  hot  foot,  to  get  that  envel- 
ope?" 

"Ah,  but  you've  forgotten  something!"  cried 
Beverley.  "A  thief  might  get  the  envelope:  I'll 
admit  that.  But  how  could  he  have  another  one 
exactly  like  it,  with  the  same  seals,  the  same  mono- 
gram, to  put  into  Roger's  pocket,  when  he  took  the 
original?" 

"He  could  only  have  it  if  O'Reilly  could  have 
given  it  to  him.  Could  he  have  done  that?" 

Suddenly  Beverley  began  to  see.  A  vivid  idea 
sprang  into  her  head,  and  was  imaged  in  her  eyes. 

"You've  thought  of  something!"  Clo  exclaimed. 
"You  see  how  O'Reilly  might  have  got  the  seal  with 
the  monogram,  and  the  gold  wax,  and  an  envelope 
like  the  one  you  had?" 

"Oh,  yes.  I  do  see!"  Beverley  groaned.  "He 
could  have  brought  the  things  from — from  .  .  . 
But  never  mind.  That  part's  nothing  to  you." 

"I  want  only  to  know  the  part  you  want  me  to 
know,"  said  Clo. 

"It  isn't  a  question  of  what  I  want.  It's  a  ques- 
tion of  my  sacred  oath,"  Beverley  answered.  "  There 
was  a  house  where  I  had  been,  to  get  the  envelope. 
O'Reilly  was  there,  too.  Someone  ...  no  matter 
who!  .  .  .  could  have  given  him  all  the  things, 
so  he  could  change  envelopes  if  he  got  the  chance. 
Oh,  child,  I  keep  stumbling  on  to  a  path  where  I  dare 
not  step." 


74 

"We'll  go  back  to  the  train,"  said  Clo.  "If  O'Reilly 
had  the  gold  wax  and  the  seal,  and  the  right  kind  of 
envelope,  he  could  have  made  his  plan,  and  sent  his 
telegram,  and  had  everything  ready  for  the  right 
minute  ...  in  the  Chicago  station." 

"Ye — es,  he  could.     But  it's  almost  impossible!" 

"It's  more  possible  than  Mr.  Sands'  changing  the 
envelopes,  isn't  it?" 

"That  is  the  one  impossible  thing.  The  worst 
remains.  I  have  lost  the  papers !  Whether  O'Reilly 
has  them  or  someone  else,  I  can't  get  them  back. 
Without  them,  I'm  ruined!" 

"You  shan't  be!"  Clo  cried,  twining  her  thin  arms 
round  her  idol's  waist.  "You  must  be  saved  some- 
how. We've  got  till  ten  o'clock  to  think." 

"If  I  were  the  only  one,  it  wouldn't  matter  so 
much,"  Beverley  said.  "But  there's  somebody  who 
can  be  tortured  as  well  as  killed,  if  I  have  no  bribe  to 
offer.  Those  papers  gave  me  all  the  power  I  had." 

"  Wouldn't  money  .  .  ."  Clo  began,  but  Bever- 
ley cut  her  short. 

"No  money  I  could  get  would  be  of  any  use,"  she 
said.  "A  million  might  be!" 

"See  O'Reilly  and  make  him  give  up  the  papers!" 
cried  Clo.  "Oh,  but  is  he  in  New  York? " 

"He  doesn't  live  in  New  York,  but  he's  here  now. 
I  know,  because  that  man  you  saw,  Peterson,  told  me. 
It  was  part  of  a  threat  he  held  over  my  head  that 
O'Reilly  and  some  people  connected  with  him  should 
be  in  town  just  now.  I  know  the  hotel  he's  staying 
in,  the  Dietz.  But  even  if  O'Reilly  would  come,  how 


BEVERLEY  TALKS  75 

could  I  see  him  without  Roger  knowing?  It  wouldn't 
be  possible!" 

"  I'll  somehow  make  O'Reilly  come,"  the  girl  prom- 
ised. "I  don't  know  how,  yet,  but  I  know  I  will, if 
you  can  get  Mr.  Sands  out  of  the  house." 

Beverley  shuddered.  "How  horrid  that 

sounds  .  .  .  as  if  I  were  plotting  against  him, 
the  way  women  do  who  deceive  their  husbands." 

"Well,  anyhow,  if  O'Reilly  took  the  papers,  would 
he  still  have  them,  do  you  think?  "  asked  Clo,  with  the 
sudden  eagerness  of  one  who  catches  in  desperation 
at  a  new  idea. 

"It's  just  possible.  I  can  see  a  reason  why  he 
might  have  been  asked  to  keep  them,"  Beverley 
answered. 

"  If  that's  so,  would  he  put  them  in  a  bank,  or  a  safe 
somewhere,  or  would  he  bring  them  to  New  York?" 

"There  might  be  a  special  motive  for  him  to  bring 
them  to  New  York  ...  I  think  there  would 
be  a  motive." 

"Well,  it  seems  to  me,  the  sort  of  man  I  imagined 
he  is,  would  be  too  smart  to  have  such  things  on  him 
if  he  came  to  your  house,  and  didn't  mean  to  give 
'em  back  to  you.  It  would  be  tempting  Providence, 
so  to  speak!" 

"If  I  were  the  kind  of  woman  he  thinks  I  am,  he'd 
not  expect  me  to  stop  short  of  murder  to  get  those 
papers,"  and  Beverley  laughed  a  bitter  little  laugh. 

" Good!  If  he  comes  to  you  and  leaves  the  papers 
at  his  hotel,  a  certain  thing  will  happen,  but  it's  safer 
for  you  not  to  know — till  afterward." 


IX 
THE  BLUFF  THAT  FAILED 

"You  must  tell  me!"  Beverley  insisted.  "Tell 
me  at  once!" 

"While  Mr.  O'Reilly  is  here  with  you,  Miss  Riley 
without  the  'O*,  will  be  at  his  hotel,  in  his  room,  help- 
ing herself  to  his — I  mean  your — papers." 

"My  child,  you're  mad!"  Beverley  gasped. 

"Not  so  mad  as  he']!  be  when  he  finds  out,"  crowed 
the  girl.  "Hurray!  The  whole  business  is  settling 
itself  in  my  head.  The  one  trouble  is  Mr.  Sands. 
The  rest  will  be  all  right.  Think  what  to  do  about 
him,  Angel;  think  hard!" 

Beverley  thought  until  her  brain  whirled. 

"I  might  suggest  Roger's  dining  at  his  club,"  she 
said.  "But  how  I  should  hate  to  do  that!  He's 
vexed  already.  He  has  a  right  to  be !  This  afternoon 
he  gave  me  a  wonderful  present,  a  rope  of  pearls 
that  belonged  to  a  Queen.  It  must  have  cost  a 
quarter  of  a  million!  I  hardly  stopped  to  thank 
him,  I  was  in  such  frantic  haste  to  get  the  envelope 
to  you.  The  rope  caught  in  the  key  of  a  drawer; 
the  string  broke,  and  a  lot  of  pearls  ran  all  over  the 
carpet.  I  didn't  wait  to  pick  them  up.  I  ran  down 
to  you,  and  I  was  gone  so  long  Roger  went  to  my 
room  to  look  for  me.  I  came  back  and  found  him 

76 


THE  BLUFF  THAT  FAILED  77 

picking  up  pearls.  I  felt  my  excuses  did  more  harm 
than  good.  Roger  pretended  that  he  had  an  engage- 
ment. I  saw  by  his  face  he  wanted  to  walk  off  his 
anger  in  the  fresh  air.  If  he  does  walk  it  off — if  he 
comes  back  ready  to  make  up,  and  I  send  him  away 
again,  perhaps  that  will  finish  it!  Things  may  never 
be  the  same  between  us  any  more!" 

"He  was  angry  because  you  didn't  seem  to  care 
enough  for  his  present,"  said  Clo.  "But  if  you  can 
get  him  out  of  the  house  for  an  hour  or  so,  and  at  the 
same  time  prove  that  you  adore  the- pearls;  how  does 
that  plan  strike  you?" 

"How  could  I  do  both?" 

"Beg  him  to  go  fetch  a  pearl-stringer,  and  bring 
her  back  here  himself,  to-night.  Say  you  can't  rest 
or  sleep  till  the  pearls  are  restrung." 

"You  forget  it's  Sunday,  and " 

"I  don't  forget.  But  I  know  a  pearl-stringer. 
She  isn't  just  any  old  pearl-stringer,  who  might 
thread  on  a  wax  bead  here  and  there,  and  keep  a 
pearl  or  two  up  her  sleeve.  She's  the  best  pearl- 
stringer  in  New  York.  The  big  jewellers  and  lots  of 
swell  society  women  have  her.  It's  queer  the  way 
I  came  to  know  her,  but  it  makes  it  good  for  us.  We 
were  crossing  a  street,  she  and  I.  I  didn't  know  the 
woman  from  Adam — Eve,  I  mean.  But  it  was  slip- 
pery, and  she  missed  her  footing.  I  dragged  her 
back,  just  in  time,  and  held  her  up.  She's  a  little 
woman,  no  bigger  than  me,  or  I  couldn't  have  done 
it.  But  I  got  her  on  the  sidewalk  again,  and  she  was 
grateful.  She's  Irish,  too,  and  she  invited  me  to  go 


78  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

and  see  her  the  next  Sunday.  It's  out  at  Yonkers, 
where  she  lives,  in  a  nice  little  house  she's  bought. 
I  went  there  once.  She  said  if  she  could  do  some 
favour  for  me,  she'd  love  to.  But  it's  no  favour  I'll 
be  asking,  except  for  her  to  come  out  on  a  Sunday 
evening.  So  the  only  thing  is  to  fetch  her.  Do  you 
think  Mr.  Sands  will  go?" 

"It  depends  upon  how  he  feels  when  he  comes  in," 
said  Beverley.  "But  Sister  Lake  would  never  let 
you  out  again." 

"I  shan't  ask  her.  I'll  get  up  and  dress  while 
you  see  if  Mr.  Sands  is  back.  If  I  hear  from  you  that 
all's  well,  I'll  slip  out  before  Sister  comes." 

"Clo,  you're  wonderful!"  Beverley  exclaimed. 
'How  can  I  thank  you  enough?" 

"Thanks  from  you  to  me!  That's  good!  Just 
wait,  Angel,  anyhow,  till  I've  done  something.  Oh, 
I  forgot  to  give  you  the  pearl-stringer's  address. 
It's  Miss  Blackburne,  27  Elm  Street,  Yonkers. 
And  tell  Mr.  Sands  to  mention  my  name.  It 
might  make  a  difference.  She  doesn't  like  leav- 
ing her  mother  in  the  evenings,  but  she'd  do  it  for 
me." 

Beverley  was  gone  for  fifteen  minutes.  When 
she  flew  in  again  she  was  surprised  to  see  Clo  in  bed 
as  before.  But  hardly  was  the  door  closed  when  the 
girl  threw  back  the  coverlet,  to  show  that  she  was 
fully  dressed. 

"I  was  afraid  Sister  might  pop  in — by  an  evil 
chance,"  she  explained.  "I've  only  to  put  on  my 
hat.  Well,  is  it  all  right?" 


THE  BLUFF  THAT  FAILED  79 

"Roger  will  go,"  said  Beverley.  "He's  'phoning 
now  for  his  car.  I'm  putting  off  dinner  till  half-past 
eight  so  he  can  have  plenty  of  time  to  get  home  and 
change.  He  didn't  make  any  difficulty  when  I  told 
him  about  the  pearl-stringer  and  wanting  her  at  once. 
He  agreed  with  me  that  it  would  be  best  to  do  such 
an  errand  himself,  if  it  were  to  be  done.  And  he 
was  very  kind.  But  his  manner  was  different.  I'm 
frightened." 

"Don't  be,"  said  Clo.  She  was  up  now,  had 
pinned  on  the  pretty  white  hat,  and  was  fastening 
her  smart  little  cape.  "I'll  go  first  to  the  Westmor- 
land and  see  our  man;  he  said  he'd  be  in,  waiting  till 
ten.  I'll  tell  him  things  are  in  train,  but  he  must  give 
you  till  midnight,  if  necessary.  From  there  perhaps 
I  can  'phone  the  Dietz  Hotel.  It  wouldn't  be  safe 
here.  By  that  time  O'Reilly  ought  to  be  in  his  room 
dressing  for  dinner.  He'll  see  me,  I'm  sure,  and  the 
rest  will  arrange  itself.  Now,  I'm  off  before  Mr. 
Sands'  automobile  comes,  or  Sister  Lake.  If  she 
finds  the  door  shut  and  all  quiet  she'll  think  I'm 
asleep.  Go  back  to  your  husband,  Angel,  and  I'll 
slip  away  on  my  little  jaunt." 

"I've  brought  money  for  you,"  said  Beverley. 
"Take  this  purse.  There's  change  for  taxis  and 
lots  of  bills  besides — fifty  or  sixty  dollars." 

Two  minutes  later  Clo  was  in  the  street.  The 
first  thing  that  happened  to  her  was  a  small  piece  of 
luck.  She  had  been  dreading  the  walk  to  a  taxi- 
stand,  when  she  saw  a  car  about  to  drive  away  from 
a  house  near  by.  It  was  a  public  vehicle.  Clo 


80  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

hailed  the  chauffeur  and  gave  the  Westmorland  as 
her  destination. 

"Mr.  Peterson"  was  in,  according  to  promise. 

"You  again,  is  it?  I  looked  for  Mrs.  Sands,"  he 
grumbled. 

"I'm  her  messenger  for  the  second  time,"  said  Clo, 
"and  probably  I  shall  be  for  the  third,  when  it  comes 
to  settling  up.  If  you  get  what  you  want,  it  doesn't 
matter  who  brings  it,  I  suppose?" 

"Then  you  suppose  wrong.  My  business  is  with 
a  woman,  not  a  kid!  All  the  same,  if  you've  got 
anything  for  me " 

"I  haven't — yet!"  Clo  snapped  him  up.  "It 
isn't  time.  But  I'm  on  to  where  the  thing  is,  and 
how  to  get  it.  Only  it  may  take  till  after  ten  o'clock. 
That's  what  I  came  to  say." 

"Save  your  breath!  Ten  o'clock's  the  time.  If 
she  doesn't  want  me  to  go  back  on  my  bargain  she'd 
better  not  go  back  on  hers." 

He  looked  more  than  ever  like  a  ferret,  the  girl 
thought. 

"Mrs.  Sands  made  no  bargain  as  to  time,"  she 
said.  "And  talking  of  time,  what  about  the  time 
you've  done?": 

Peterson  gave  a  cackling  laugh.  "What's  the 
female  for  'Smart  Aleck'?"  he  sneered.  "Guessed 
by  my  complexion,  did  yuh?  Well,  I  don't  need  to 
make  no  secret  of  it.  My  gardeens  wished  me  good- 
bye and  Gord  bless  me  when  the  nine  months  they 
run  me  in  for  was  up." 

Clo  thought  she  could  come  close  to  guessing  what 


THE  BLUFF  THAT  FAILED  81 

the  charge  had  been,  and  it  would  have  needed  more 
than  the  word  of  a  ferret  to  assure  her  of  his  "in- 
nocence." The  man  was  a  born  sneak-thief  or  pick- 
pocket. His  hands  were  slim  and  small  as  a  girl's. 
Perhaps  if  temptation  had  been  put  in  his  way 
while  he  "waited  at  the  newsstand"  for  Beverley, 
all  those  months  ago,  he  had  been  unable  to  resist 
and  thus  had  missed  his  appointment.  Not  that 
the  girl  much  cared  as  to  this  detail;  it  was  not  her 
affair.  But  it  was  odd,  almost  "creepy,"  how  the 
links  were  being  joined  together  in  the  chain  of  evi- 
dence against  O'Reilly,  the  man  who  had  followed 
Angel  into  the  Limited — the  man  against  whom 
Clo  had  presently  to  try  her  wits.  What  concerned 
her  most  was  that  her  first  attempt  at  bluff  had 
failed.  Something  in  Peterson's  manner  forced  her 
to  believe  that  he  had  indeed  served  out  his  full 
sentence,  and  for  the  moment  had  nothing  to  fear 
from  the  police.  Clodagh  hid  her  disappointment 
with  a  little  swagger. 

"It  suits  us  just  as  well  as  you,  to  finish  up  at  ten 
o'clock  and  get  it  over,"  she  said.  "If  we  can,  we 
will.  If  we  can't,  you'll  have  to  wait.  The  way 
things  are,  you  have  to  be  in  with  us,  you  see,  not 
against  us." 

"Oh,  do  I?  I  ain't  so  sure!"  he  flung  back.  "I 
ain't  sure  my  fine  madam's  not  in  the  game  t'other 
way  round — and  her  husband,  too.  I  know  now 
that  she  and  Roger  Sands  travelled  in  the  same  train 
from  where  she  started.  Blowed  if  I  see  why  she'd 
do  it,  but  it  might  be  they  fixed  a  frame-up  between 


82  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

them.  I  can  see  why  it  would  suit  Sands,  if  it 
wouldn't  her,  and  a  man's  stronger  than  a  woman. 
Sands  was  working  for  John  Heron  at  the  time. 
That  means  a  lot." 

"It  doesn't  mean  that  Mrs.  Sands  would  be  dis- 
loyal to  her  word.  I  know  she's  true  as  steel,"  Clo 
insisted.  She  spoke  crisply,  but  her  thoughts  wan 
dered.  They  had  caught  at  the  name  of  John  Heron ; 
Beverley  had  never  mentioned  it.  The  girl  had  no 
means  of  guessing  how  it  might  bear  upon  the  case 
now  in  her  small,  determined  hands.  She  did  not 
see  how,  or  where,  she  could  have  heard  it  before, 
yet  it  did  not  sound  strange  to  her.  The  feeling  she 
had  on  hearing  it  puzzled  and  even  thrilled  her 
vaguely.  It  was  as  if  the  name,  "John  Heron,"  had 
been  whispered  into  her  ear  in  a  dream — a  dream  not 
forgotten,  but  buried  under  other  things  in  her  brain. 
The  girl  was  suddenly  alert.  There  was  only  one 
fact  which  she  grasped  with  straining  certainty. 
In  that  buried  dream  there  were  other  sounds  con- 
nected with  the  whispered  name:  sounds  of  sobbing, 
as  of  someone  crying  in  the  dark. 

"Anyhow,"  Peterson  went  on,  "there  was  a  frame- 
up,  and  those  that  was  in  it  has  got  to  pay  me  for 
what  I  went  through.  That's  partly  why  I'm  here 
in  Noo  York.  If  I  don't  have  those  papers  by  ten 
I'll  show  up  at  the  Sands  flat  and  ask  for  the 
missis." 

"You  wouldn't  find  Mr.  Sands  at  home,"  the  girl 
cut  in.  "He's  out.  When  he  comes  back  he's 
likely  to  go  away  again  at  once." 


THE  BLUFF  THAT  FAILED  83 

"Aw,  he  is,  is  he?"  echoed  Peterson.  His  person- 
ality waked  up  secretively,  like  that  of  some  weak, 
night  animal  hiding  in  a  wood.  Clo  eyed  him,  striv- 
ing to  make  him  out. 

"Better  go  home,  kiddy,"  he  advised.  His  tone 
was  good-natured.  "Shall  I  see  you  back  to  where 
you  live,  or " 

"I  have  another  errand  to  do,"  the  girl  announced 
with  dignity.  She  had  meant  to  telephone  from  the 
Westmorland  to  the  Dietz,  and  learn  if  Justin 
O'Reilly  was  in;  but  now  she  determined  not  to  do  so. 
Better  waste  a  little  time  rather  than  Peterson 
should  hear  her  inquiring  for  O'Reilly.  Instead  of 
waiting  to  telephone,  she  walked  to  the  door  and 
asked  a  half-baked  youth  in  hotel  livery  to  call  her 
a  taxi. 

"  If  ferret-face  tries  to  follow  I'll  lead  him  a  dance ! " 
she  thought.  But  ferret-face  seemed  to  read  her 
mind,  and  be  willing  to  relieve  it. 

"So  long!"  he  said.  "I've  got  a  job  o*  work, 
too.  It  will  take  me  till  about  ten.  After  that  I 
shall  be  lookin'  for  a  call  from  you  or  her  lady- 
ship." 

He  turned  his  back  and  sauntered  to  the  elevator. 
Before  the  taxi  had  arrived  he  had  been  shot  up  to 
regions  above. 

"So  that's  all  right!"  Clo  muttered  to  herself, 
spinning  toward  the  Dietz.  Yet,  as  she  said  the 
words,  she  wondered  if  it  was  all  right.  Why  had 
Peterson's  whole  personality  made  a  kind  of  "light- 
ning change"  on  hearing  that  Sands  (whom  he  ex- 


84  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

pressed  a  wish  to  see)  would  not  be  at  home  that 
night?  Ought  she  to  'phone  to  Beverley  and  put  her 
on  guard?  Yes,  she  would  telephone  from  the  Dietz, 
while  waiting  to  see  O'Reilly.  It  would  be  safe,  be- 
cause Roger  by  this  time  should  be  far  away. 


X 

THE  BLUFF  THAT  WON 

JUSTIN  O'REILLY  had  a  modest  suite  in  the  magnifi- 
cent Dietz.  It  adjoined  the  luxurious  suite  of  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  John  Heron,  and  consisted  of  a  small  sitting- 
room,  a  bedroom,  and  bath.  He  was  tying  his  neck- 
tie when  the  telephone  bell  rang.  He  grabbed  the 
receiver  as  if  it  were  a  snake  that  had  to  be  throttled, 
and  gave  it  a  grudging  "Hello!" 

"A  lady  to  see  you,"  a  voice  answered. 

"She  wasn't  told  I'm  in,  I  hope?  A  nice  thing  for 
a  well-regulated  hotel  if " 

"No,  but  she  says  it's  important.  She's  Miss 
O'Reilly." 

Miss  O'Reilly!  The  man  of  that  name  was  per- 
plexed. The  only  Miss  O'Reilly  who,  as  far  as  he 
knew,  could  possibly  call  on  him,  was  the  last  woman 
he  would  have  expected  to  do  so.  He  had  come  to 
New  York  largely  in  the  hope  o*  seeing  her.  She 
had  refused  to  see  him. 

"Tell  her  I'll  be  down  in  three  minutes,"  he  replied. 

"She  particularly  doesn't  want  you  to  come  down. 
She  says  she  has  some  private  news  for  you,  and  asks 
if  you'll  see  her  in  your  own  sitting-room." 

"All  right,"  he  tried  to  answer  calmly.  "Have 
the  lady  shown  up." 

85 


86  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

He  rushed  back  into  his  bedroom  to  wrestle  once 
more  with  the  tie.  He  must  be  ready  to  receive 
Miss  O'Reilly  at  the  door,  and  his  waistcoat  and  coat 
were  yet  to  put  on.  But  it  could  be  managed.  The 
suite  was  on  the  fifteenth  floor,  and  a  full  minute's 
walk  from  the  lift  for  an  old  person  like  Miss  O'Reilly. 
Bungling  everything  in  his  haste,  he  tried  to  think 
what  it  might  mean.  It  looked  as  if  she  must  have 
changed  her  mind,  and  be  ready  to  sell  him  her  house, 
the  dear  old  house  on  which  he  had  set  his  heart. 
Perhaps  she  would  demand  a  higher  price  than  he 
had  offered.  Well,  he  must  pay  it  somehow.  Heron 
would  lend  him  the  money — but  no,  there  were  rea- 
sions  why  O'Reilly  didn't  wish  to  accept  favours 
from  Heron,  often  as  they  had  been  pressed  upon 
him.  As  he  slipped  into  his  coat,  he  heard  the  ex- 
pected rap  at  his  sitting-room  door,  and  hurried  to 
open  it.  A  page-boy,  acting  as  guide,  had  run  ahead 
of  the  lady,  to  knock. 

"Miss  O'Reilly  to  see  Mr.  O'Reilly,"  he  an- 
nounced,  with  Irish  relish  of  the  Irish  name.  Then 
he  erased  himself.  O'Reilly  stood  on  the  threshold, 
waiting  for  the  right  lady  to  appear,  and  meanwhile 
dodged  back  from  the  wrong  one,  a  small,  slim  flapper 
in  white,  who  for  some  reason  had  paused  before  his 
door.  She  stood  quite  still,  and  stared  up  at  him  un- 
winkingly,  as  a  child  stares. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon , ' '  O'Reilly  said,  wanting  to  laugh . 
"  May  I  pass  ?  I  must  look  for  a  lady  who " 

"I'm  the  lady,"  the  creature  in  white  intervened. 
"That  is,  I  am  if  you  are  Mr.  O'Reilly." 


THE  BLUFF  THAT  WON  87 

"O'Reilly's  my  name,"  he  admitted.  "But  I 
was  expecting — or — perhaps  my  cousin  sent  you?" 

"Perhaps  I  am  your  cousin,"  suggested  the  girl 
who  (Justin  saw,  now  that  he  looked  her  deliberately 
in  the  face)  had  the  biggest,  blackest  eyes,  and  the 
whitest  skin  he  had  ever  seen.  She  had,  also,  red 
hair  under  a  fetching  hat.  Although  the  child  was 
no  beauty,  she  had  an  amusing,  elfin  air. 

"Delighted,  I'm  sure,"  he  felt  obliged  to  answer. 
"I  thought  I  had  only  one  cousin  in  the  world,  Theresa 
O'Reilly,  of  Gramercy  Park.  But " 

"It  sounds  like  the  chorus  of  a  song;  'Theresa 
O'Reilly,  of  Gramercy  Park,'"  Clo  was  unable  to 
resist  remarking,  with  her  strongest  brogue.  "Will 
you  please  ask  me  in?"  she  said.  "My  errand's 
very  pressing." 

Mechanically  the  man  stepped  aside  and  let  her 
walk  into  the  room.  He  began  to  suspect  that  he 
had  been  "spoofed."  He  did  not  invite  the  young 
person  to  be  seated,  but  looked  at  her  expectantly. 
Her  first  move  was  to  shut  the  door.  She  did  not 
speak. 

"May  I  know  your  name?"  he  inquired,  as  they 
faced  each  other. 

"The  same  as  yours,  but  for  a  letter  or  two," 
said  Clo,  marking  time.  "That's  why  I  may  be  a 
cousin;  one  never  knows.  I  didn't  come  to  talk 
about  the  family  tree,  though,  Mr.  O'Reilly.  I  came 
to  beg — not  for  money,  so  don't  be  frightened." 

"I'm  not  conscious  of  fear,"  laughed  O'Reilly. 
He  couldn't  help  laughing.  He  didn't  believe  the 


88  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

girl's  name  was  the  "same  as  his.'*  "If  I'm  not 
afraid,  I  am  curious,"  he  confessed.  "What  are 
you  going  to  beg  for,  if  not  money?  Is  this  a  mes- 
sage from  my  cousin ?" 

Clo  ceased  suddenly  to  be  impish.  She  had  got 
into  the  enemy's  fastness  by  her  impishness,  but  she 
could  go  no  further  on  that  line.  This  man,  being 
the  exact  opposite  of  the  type  expected,  upset  her 
plan.  A  big  danger  was  that  she  might  like  this 
O'Reilly  instead  of  hating  him,  he  was  so  pleasant 
and  gallant-looking,  more  a  protector  than  a  per- 
secutor of  women.  She  might  hesitate  to  cheat  or 
trick  him  in  whatever  way  came  handy,  and  thus 
fail  the  Angel  on  top  of  all  her  boasts.  In  her  hot 
little  heart  Clo  prayed  for  the  wisdom  of  the  serpent, 
and  as  her  elfin  face  took  on  anxious  lines,  she  be- 
came more  interesting  to  O'Reilly.  Her  white  face 
looked  pinched  and  desperate.  "If  I  were  Marat, 
and  she  Charlotte  Corday,"  was  the  thought  that 
jumped  into  his  head,  "she  would  stab  me." 

"It's  a  good  thing  for  me  you  have  a  cousin,  or 
maybe  you  wouldn't  have  let  me  in.  I  know  now 
why  God  gave  me  the  name  of  Riley.  I  guess  he'll 
forgive  me  for  borrowing  the  *O.'  I  was  obliged  to 
get  to  you  somehow.  That  was  the  one  way  I  could 

tTiinlc  of." 

"It  was  a  pretty  smart  way,"  O'Reilly  flattered 
her.  "But  you  haven't  told  me " 

"I  will.  Only— I  think  I'll  have  to  sit  down.  I 
feel  rather — queer " 

"  Good  lord !    You  can't  faint  here ! " 


THE  BLUFF  THAT  WON  89 

"I  won't,  unless  you  make  me,  I'll  promise  that!" 
She  had  her  cue  now. 

"Sit  down,  for  heaven's  sake!"  said  O'Reilly, 
pulling  up  the  biggest  chair  in  the  room.  Clo  sank 
into  it.  Closing  her  eyes,  she  drew  in  a  gasping 
breath  which  made  her  girlish  bosom  heave. 

The  man  stood  by,  feeling  absurdly  helpless. 

"Shall  I  ring  for  brandy?"  he  suggested. 

"No — please!"  She  opened  her  great  eyes  again. 
"Only  listen.  I've  come  from  Mrs.  Roger  Sands — 
to  beg  you  for  those  papers  of  hers." 

"Mrs.  Roger  Sands!  Her  papers?  I  know  noth- 
ing of  any  papers  belonging  to  Mrs.  Roger  Sands," 
O'Reilly  exclaimed.  "What  papers  are  you  talking 
about?" 

"  The  ones  you  hired  a  man  to  steal  when  the  train 
got  to  Chicago." 

O'Reilly  started.  "Whose  accusation  is  that?" 
he  asked  sharply. 

"Not  hers;  it's  mine." 

"Yours!  Once  again,  who  are  you?  What  are 
you  in  this?" 

"I'm  nobody!    I'm  only — a  lion's  mouse." 

O'Reilly  did  not  ask  what  it  meant  to  be  a  lion's 
mouse.  He  understood.  His  mind  was  not  less 
quick  than  hers. 

"  And  I'm  the  net  you  hope  to  gnaw !  Miss  Mouse, 
your  little  teeth  will  find  me  tough.  I  may  say  I'm 
a  patent,  ungnawable  net.  The  best  thing  for  you 
is  to  go  home  as  fast  as  you  can  and  tell  those  who 
sent  you " 


90  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

"I  sent  myself,"  Clo  explained,  with  tired  ob- 
stinacy. "I  told  you  I  had  to  see  you  somehow. 
Oh,  Mr.  O'Reilly,  you  don't  look  the  sort  of  cruel  pig 
I  thought  you  would  be.  If  you  dreamed  what  Mrs. 
Sands  is  going  through  you'd  give  her  back  the 
papers.  Don't  pretend  not  to  know  what  I  mean." 

"I  won't  pretend  anything,"  O'Reilly  said.  "I 
do  know  what  you  mean,  and  I  got  the  documents 
(which  were  not  the  property  of  Mrs.  Sands)  more 
or  less  as  you  think  I  got  them.  But  no  mouse,  no 
mastodon  could  induce  me  to  hand  them  over  to  your 
friend." 

Clo's  eyes  travelled  over  his  person.  He  looked 
slim  and  soldierly  in  his  well-made  evening  clothes. 
There  could  be  nothing  thicker  than  a  watch,  and 
that  a  thin  one,  in  his  pockets. 

"If  you  would  see  Mrs.  Sands,  maybe  you'd  change 
your  mind,"  she  pleaded,  in  her  creamiest  Irish  voice. 
"Take  me  back  to  her,  and  take  the  papers  along. 
Then,  if  you " 

"I  can't  do  either,"  was  O'Reilly's  ultimatum. 
"I'll  take  you  downstairs  and  put  you  in  your  car  if 
you've  got  one,  or  a  taxi  if  you  haven't.  But " 

"You'll  have  to  take  me  home,"  said  Clo.  "I 
won't  try  to  start  without  you.  I've  gone  through 
enough.  I'll  just  let  myself  collapse.  I  promised 
not  to  f aint  unless  you  made  me.  Now  you  are  mak- 
ing me." 

"You  deserve  to  be  thrown  out  of  the  window!" 

" I  have  been,  once,"  the  pale  girl  announced.  " It 
was  four  storeys  up,  and  all  my  ribs  were  smashed. 


91 

This  is  my  first  day  out  of  bed.  I  thought  I  could 
manage  it,  if  you  were  kind.  I'd  gladly  die  for  Mrs. 
Sands.  And  if  I  do " 

"Brace  up ! "  O'Reilly  cried.  " I'll  take  you  home. 
I  know  where  the  house  is.  I  passed  it  this  after- 
noon. There  was  a  man  who But  no  matter. 

Have  you  got  a  car  below?" 

Clo  was  almost  past  answering;  almost,  not  quite. 
But  weakness  was  her  "cue,"  as  well  as  the  line  of 
least  resistance.  Having  now  an  incentive  to  let 
herself  go  rather  than  "brace  up"  as  O'Reilly  urged, 
she  enjoyed  collapsing.  Yet  something  within  was 
on  guard,  and  knew  that  O'Reilly  had  to  be  watched. 

He  dashed  to  the  telephone  and  ordered  a  taxi. 
Then  he  returned  to  the  girl  in  the  chair.  Her  eyes 
were  half  shut,  a  rim  of  white  showing  between  the 
lashes.  The  man  could  not  help  believing  the  queer 
story  she  had  gasped  out,  about  the  fall,  and  the 
broken  ribs,  and  this  being  the  first  day  she  had  left 
her  bed!.  That  would  account  for  her  thinness  and 
paleness.  He  touched  her  hand,  which  hung  over 
the  arm  of  the  chair.  There  was  no  glove  on  it,  and 
the  pathetically  small  thing  was  icy  cold. 

"She's  fainted,  fast  enough,"  he  growled.  Clo 
heard  the  words  dimly,  as  though  she  had  cotton 
wool  in  her  ears.  Her  duty  was  to  trick  the  man, 
but  she  didn't  like  doing  that  duty. 

O'Reilly  gently  laid  down  the  tiny  paw  he  had 
taken  in  his.  It  was  limp  as  the  hand  of  a  dead  girl. 
Clo  would  have  felt  less  compunction  if  he  had 
dropped  it  roughly.  He  took  a  few  brisk  steps,  as 


92  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

though  he  had  come  to  some  decision.  She  forced 
herself  back  from  the  brink  of  unconsciousness  to 
realize  that  he  was  going  toward  the  door — not  the 
outer  door,  through  which  she  had  entered,  but 
another.  He  opened  this,  and  Clo  saw  that  beyond 
was  a  bedroom.  Quickly  he  went  to  a  table  where 
stood  a  tall  glass  jug  filled  with  crushed  ice  and 
water.  His  back  was  turned  to  the  girl  as  he  began 
pouring  the  jug's  contents  into  a  tumbler,  but  sud- 
denly, as  if  on  a  strong  impulse,  he  turned.  Clo  did 
not  even  quiver.  Something  told  her  that  the  thing 
she  had  prayed  for  was  about  to  happen. 


XI 
O'REILLY'S  WAISTCOAT  POCKET 

O'REILLY'S  first  look  into  the  sitting  room  was  not 
for  the  girl.  Involuntarily,  it  seemed,  he  sent  a 
lightning  glance  to  the  left,  to  that  side  of  the  room 
farthest  from  the  big  chair  where  she  sat.  Clo's 
desperate  need  to  know  what  was  in  his  head  in- 
spired her  with  clairvoyance.  Consciousness  lit  her 
brain  once  more.  She  was  sure  that  she  had  read 
his  thoughts.  He  feared  that  after  all  she  was  fool- 
ing him.  He  was  saying  in  his  mind:  "What  if  she 
meant  me  to  go  and  fetch  this  water  while  she  looks 
for  what  she  wants  to  find?" 

Now  Clo  was  certain  at  last,  not  only  of  his  having 
the  papers,  but  that  they  were  in  the  room,  some- 
where on  that  left  side,  where  his  glance  had  flashed. 
It  was  hard  to  keep  still,  without  the  flicker  of  an 
eyelash;  but  she  believed,  as  O'Reilly  came  back  to 
her,  that  she  had  stood  the  test  of  his  stare. 

He  moistened  his  handkerchief,  and  gingerly 
dabbed  the  girl's  forehead.  It  was  a  relief  to  "come 
to,"  to  be  able  to  start,  and  draw  a  long  breath. 

"There!     You're  better,  aren't  you?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  she  breathed.  "I  should  like  to  go  home, 
but  I'm  afraid " 

"Don't  be.    I'm  going  with  you,"  he  said.     "By 

93 


94  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

this  time  a  taxi's  waiting  for  us.    Do  you  think  you 
can  walk  if  I  give  you  my  arm?" 

"I'll  try,"  Clo  answered,  gratefully. 

No  pretence  of  weakness  was  needed.  She  felt 
like  a  rag.  O'Reilly  took  her  by  the  hand,  and  with 
an  arm  round  the  slim  waist  raised  the  girl  to  her  feet. 
Once  up,  she  swayed  as  if  she  might  fall,  but  he  held 
her  firmly.  "Lean  against  me,"  he  said,  in  a  kind 
voice. 

She  had  never  before  been  so  near  to  a  man  in  her 
life.  " You're  very  good  to  me,"  she  whispered. 
"I  should  like  you,  please,  to  remember  that  I  thank 
you." 

"I'm  sorry  I  said  you  deserved  to  be  thrown  out 
of  the  window,"  O'Reilly  absolved  himself.  "  What- 
ever else  you  may  be,  you're  a  good  plucked  one. 
Now,  here  we  are  at  the  door.  Are  you  sure  you  can 
walk  to  the  elevator?  Hang  on  to  my  arm." 

She  hung  on  to  it. 

They  reached  the  lift,  which  came  to  them  in  a  few 
seconds,  unoccupied  save  for  the  youth  who  ran  it. 
Clodagh  kept  up  bravely  until  she  was  seated  in  the 
taxi,  and  could  have  kept  up  until  the  end  without 
too  great  an  effort,  for  her  collapse  had  made  her  feel 
rested.  It  was  not,  however,  the  girl's  metier  to 
"keep  up."  The  task  was  but  half  accomplished. 
The  hardest  part  was  to  come. 

She  knew— or  thought  she  knew— that  O'Reilly 
had  the  papers,  that  they  were  in  New  York;  not 
only  in  New  York,  but  in  his  private  sitting  room  at 
the  Dietz  Hotel.  They  were  in  some  hiding-place 


O'REILLY'S  WAISTCOAT  POCKET      95 

there;  and  for  an  instant  he  had  feared  her  knowl- 
edge of  its  existence.  He  had  expected  her  to  try, 
while  his  back  was  turned,  to  steal  its  contents. 
Clo's  nimble  brain,  deducing  all  this  from  what  had 
happened,  deduced  something  else  as  well.  The  man 
would  have  had  no  fear  if  the  secret  were  impossible 
for  an  outsider  to  learn.  It  could  not  be  impossible. 
It  couldn't  even  be  difficult,  if  she  might  have  solved 
the  puzzle  while  his  back  was  turned.  For  her, 
O'Reilly's  uneasiness  was  a  hopeful  sign.  Some- 
where on  the  window  side  of  his  private  parlour  at 
the  Dietz  the  papers  which  Angel  needed  were  hidden. 
Each  second  during  the  girl's  slow  progress  to  the 
lift,  her  descent,  and  her  short  walk  to  the  taxi,  was 
spent  hi  sorting  out  these  deductions. 

Those  big  black  eyes  of  Clodagh  Riley's  had  not 
been  given  her  in  vain.  One  swift  glance  during 
the  cold-water  treatment  had  shown  her  many  de- 
tails useful  to  remember.  On  one  side  of  the  window 
was  a  desk.  In  the  desk  was  a  drawer,  and  the  key 
thereof  was  in  the  keyhole.  It  seemed  improbable 
that  secret  papers  should  be  kept  in  such  a  place,  but 
circumstances  might  have  forced  O'Reilly  to  leave 
them  there. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  window  was  a  kind  of 
buffet,  with  glass  doors  and  shelves  and  a  closed 
cupboard,  but  Clo  had  less  hope  of  this  than  of  the 
desk.  There  might  be  a  less  obvious  hiding  hole 
than  either,  perhaps  a  sliding  panel  in  the  wall. 
There  must  in  any  case  be  a  key,  and  that  key  must 
be  on  the  person  of  O'Reilly. 


96  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

She  would  have  to  use  all  her  wits  to  get  it  while 
they  were  together  in  the  taxi!  And  there  was  the 
key  of  the  suite  to  get  also;  but  that  would  be  easier. 
She  had  seen  O'Reilly  take  the  big  key  from  a  table, 
as  they  went  by,  slipping  it  into  the  pocket  of  his 
dinner  jacket.  Forced  to  support  his  half-fainting 
guest,  he  had  not  put  on  an  outer  coat,  so  the  key 
was  within  reach  of  clever  and  determined  fingers. 
Clodagh's  were  determined,  and — she  hoped — clever. 

With  this  design  burning  in  her  head  and  tingling 
hi  her  hands,  she  decided  to  fault  again  as  they 
started  for  home,  and  keep  O'Reilly  occupied  every 
inch  of  the  way. 

"I'm  afraid — I'm  not  so  strong — after  all "  she 

sighed,  as  the  taxi  door  shut,  and  proceeded  to  "flop" 
like  a  large  rag  doll.  Her  head  fell  on  the  man's 
breast,  and  rolled  across  to  his  left  arm,  her  hat 
askew. 

"I'm  very  ill,"  she  moaned.  "Something  hurts 

so!  My  hat-pin "  And  her  voice  trailed  into 

silence. 

"Poor  child!"  the  man  exclaimed,  completely 
taken  in  at  last.  The  hat-pin  was  sticking  in  very 
deep!  Not  that  she  minded  a  little  pain.  But  the 
great  thing  was  to  keep  O'Reilly's  hands  busy. 

Clumsily,  obstinately,  he  fumbled  among  the 
meshes  of  ostrich  plume  wound  around  her  hat.  The 
head  of  the  pin  eluding  him  there,  he  tried  beneath 
the  brim,  his  fingers  tangling  in  thick  waves  of  hair. 
They  were  soft  waves,  softer  and  silkier  than  the 
ostrich  plume.  No  man  with  blood  in  his  veins 


O'REILLY'S  WAISTCOAT  POCKET      97 

could  have  touched  them  without  a  thrill.  The  girl 
on  his  breast,  her  face  on  his  arm,  one  hand  holding 
her  up,  another  caught  in  her  hair,  O'Reilly  was 
conscious  of  electric  shocks. 

His  hands  and  attention  thus  engaged,  Clo  got  the 
chance  she'd  waited  for.  Delicately,  stealthily, 
like  the  "mouse"  she  called  herself,  she  extracted 
the  door  key  from  O'Reilly's  pocket.  So  far,  so 
good.  But  the  next  deed  would  try  her  mettle. 
Lightly  as  a  flitting  shadow  the  small  fingers  moved 
over  the  man's  waistcoat,  from  the  belt  line  to  the 
breast.  She  could  feel  his  heart  thump,  and  almost 
started,  but  controlled  herself. 

Clo  had  noticed  that  men  often  wore  a  short  chain 
or  ribbon,  attached  to  a  watch,  and  hanging  from  the 
waistcoat  pocket  with  a  seal,  a  society  badge  or  a 
lucky  souvenir.  O'Reilly  wore  no  ornament  of  that 
sort;  but  there  was  a  watch,  a  thin  watch  which  she 
could  feel  through  the  cloth,  and  some  flat  object 
with  it.  If  she  could  slip  a  finger  into  that  pocket 
without  his  knowing! 

But  now  they  were  in  Park  Avenue,  not  far  from 
the  imposing  apartment  house  at  the  corner,  where 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sands  lived.  Clo  availed  herself  of  a 
slight  bump,  and  showed  signs  of  sliding  off  the  seat. 
O'Reilly,  who  had  just  extracted  the  hat-pin  and 
stuck  it  into  his  coat,  steadied  her  with  an  effort. 
Fortunately  there  was  no  need  to  look  out  and  stop 
the  chauffeur.  That  afternoon  O'Reilly  had  passed 
the  building,  informed  by  Count  Lovoresco  who  lived 
there,  and  had  looked  up  with  a  certain  curiosity.  He 


98  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

remembered  the  number,  and  in  leaving  the  Dietz 
had  been  able  to  give  the  address. 

The  taxi  stopped,  and  O'Reilly  prepared  to  carry 
the  fainting  girl  into  the  house.  She  would  be  a 
light  load.  As  he  got  out  of  the  taxi  with  Clo  in  his 
arms  a  man  came  forward. 

"Won't  you  let  me  help  you,  sir?"  he  civilly  in- 
quired. 

"You  may  run  ahead,"  said  O'Reilly.  "I  can 
manage  the  young  lady  myself." 

The  man  who  had  offered  his  services  disappeared 
into  the  house,  and  found  the  porter,  a  substantial 
person  in  livery.  Clo  conveniently  revived  when 
placed  on  the  seat  of  the  lift.  O'Reilly  sat  by  her 
side,  supporting  the  limp  body,  her  hat  in  his  hand, 
while  the  porter  shot  the  elevator  up  to  the  Sands' 
floor. 

"Lord  a'mighty!"  the  old  fellow  exclaimed,  "if 
this  ain't  the  poor  child  that's  been  an  invalid  all 
these  weeks !  Mrs.  Sands  will  be  in  a  way !  Must  be 
near  eight  weeks  since  this  little  gal  was  brought  in 
on  a  stretcher,  lookin'  like  dead.  She  ought  to  be 
in  bed." 

"Somebody  should  have  looked  after  her,"  said 
O'Reilly. 

"  That's  it,  sir.     Her  nurse  is  out,  gaddin V 

"  Brute ! "  Clo  heard  O'Reilly  mutter.  And  lean- 
ing comfortably  against  his  shoulder  she  felt  wicked, 
treacherous,  because  she  had  more  than  once  applied 
the  same  epithet  to  him.  Whatever  happened, 
never  would  she  do  that  again! 


O'REILLY'S  WAISTCOAT  POCKET      99 

The  elevator  stopped.  The  porter  touched  the 
electric  bell  at  the  Sands'  door,  and  almost  instantly 
a  manservant  appeared.  His  cry  of  surprise  brought 
Mrs.  Sands  herself  out  from  a  room  at  the  end  of  the 
hall.  The  porter  tried  to  explain  everything;  failed; 
broke  off  to  question  O'Reilly;  O'Reilly  answered; 
Beverley  exclaimed;  and  among  them,  all  was  con- 
fusion. Clo,  looking  through  half -shut  eyes  over  her 
bearer's  shoulder,  saw  a  shadow  flit  between  the 
portieres.  Had  some  one  come  in?  If  so,  who  could 
it  be?  Or  was  it  only  the  shadow  of  a  blowing  cur- 
tain she  had  seen?  The  question  did  not  strike  her 
as  important  just  then,  for  if  any  one  had  passed  it 
was  doubtless  a  servant  or,  at  worst,  Sister  Lake.  Be- 
sides, Clo  had  much  to  think  of;  how  to  come  back 
to  consciousness  quickly  without  rousing  suspicion, 
and,  when  officially  alive  again,  how  to  escape  for  the 
next  errand. 

The  rush  of  air  and  babble  of  excited  voices  gave 
her  an  excuse  to  gasp,  and  stammer  out  a  conven- 
tional "Where  am  I?** 

"We'll  get  you  to  your  room,  dear,"  said  Beverley; 
and  Clo  wondered  if  her  acting  had  deceived  Angel. 
"The  butler  can " 

"No,  thanks,  I'll  manage  her  by  myself,"  O'Reilly 
broke  in  and  carried  the  white  bundle  along  the  hall. 

"This  is  her  room,"  Mrs.  Sands  explained  to  him. 
"If  you  will  put  her  on  the  bed.  .  .  ." 

"No — please!  Take  me  on  into  the  next  room, 
Sister  Lake's  room.  I  must  be  there.  I'll  tell  you 
why  presently,"  the  girl  pleaded. 


THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

Beverley  threw  open  the  door  between  the  two 
rooms,  hurried  ahead,  and  turned  on  a  light. 

"Now,  lay  me  on  this  bed,"  Clo  commanded. 

Having  obeyed,  O'Reilly  stood  as  if  awaiting 
further  orders.  Clo  glanced  from  him  imploringly 
to  Mrs.  Sands.  "I've  gone  through  such  a  lot!'* 
she  moaned.  "I've  suffered  so!  I  felt  I  could 
never  get  home  alive.  Please,  Mr.  O'Reilly — you've 
been  kind — don't  let  it  all  be  for  nothing!" 

"What  do  you  want  of  me?"  he  stiffly  inquired. 

"  Only  for  you  to  talk  to  Mrs.  Sands.  In  that  next 
room — my  room.  Nobody  will  disturb  you.  If  the 
nurse  comes  back,  she'll  come  into  her  own  room 
first.  That's  why  I  asked  you  to  bring  me  to  it.  I 
couldn't  persuade  you  to  give  me  the  papers.  Per- 
haps even  Mrs.  Sands  can't  persuade  you.  But  I 
beg,  I  pray  you,  to  give  her  the  chance.  Listen  to 
what  she  has  to  say." 

"Very  well,"  he  answered,  grudgingly.  "I'll  do 
what  you  ask.  But  I'll  do  it  for  your  sake." 

Beverley  had  remained  on  the  threshold  of  the 
next  room.  Now  she  retreated  into  it.  O'Reilly 
followed;  but  at  the  door  he  turned.  "Good-bye," 
he  said  to  Clo. 

"  Good-bye,"  she  echoed.  "And  thank  you  again — 
for  everything." 

She  had  more  to  thank  him  for  than  he  knew — 
the  contents  of  her  tightly  clutched  hand. 


xn 

THE  HORIZONTAL  PANEL 

FOLLOWING  Mrs.  Sands,  O'Reilly  left  the  door 
between  the  two  rooms  open;  but  Beverley  stepped 
quickly  back  and  closed  it. 

"She's  grand,  the  darling!"  thought  Clo.  "Trust 
her  to  forget  nothing.  Her  shutting  that  door  proves 
how  she  counts  on  me." 

The  girl  was  deadly  tired,  and  her  head  ached,  yet 
she  struggled  up  as  the  door  clicked.  O'Reilly  had 
brought  in  her  hat  and  dropped  it  on  a  table.  There 
was  no  hat-pin,  but  Clo  crushed  the  soft  toque  down 
over  her  masses  of  red  hair,  and  hoped  she  was  not 
untidy  enough  to  be  conspicuous.  Unsteadily  she 
tottered  to  another  door — the  door  that  led  into  the 
corridor.  This  faced  a  narrower  passage  to  the 
kitchen  and  domestic  offices  of  the  flat.  Clo  would 
have  to  take  that  way  because,  if  she  ventured  into 
the  lift  and  showed  herself  in  the  hall  below,  the 
porter  might  take  alarm.  He  might  fear  that  Mrs. 
Sands'  protegee  was  trying  to  escape  for  some  sly 
purpose  of  her  own,  and  refuse  to  let  her  go  till  he  had 
telephoned  upstairs. 

In  a  quaint  outside  pocket  of  her  new  frock  Clo  had 
put  the  purse  given  her  by  Beverley.  Through  her 
adventures  she  had  remembered  to  make  sure  oc- 

101 


102  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

casionally  that  it  had  not  dropped  out.  Now  she 
opened  the  purse,  selecting  two  ten-dollar  bills  and 
two  of  five  dollars. 

"That  ought  to  do  for  'em  all,"  she  said,  "even 
if  the  lot  are  at  home."  And,  money  in  hand,  she 
ventured  to  the  kitchen  door.  Only  the  chef  and 
a  woman  assistant  were  at  work. 

"I'm  Clo  Riley,  the  girl  Mrs.  Sands  has  been  good 
to,"  she  eagerly  explained.  "I'm  well  again,  and  I 
have  to  go  out.  Mrs.  Sands  has  a  visitor,  and  I  don't 
like  to  disturb  them.  Will  you  let  me  down  your 
way?"  So  speaking  she  laid  a  ten-dollar  bill  and  a 
five-dollar  bill  side  by  side  on  a  table.  She  made  no 
reference  to  the  money,  nor  any  gesture  indicating 
it;  nor  did  the  others  appear  to  see  it. 

The  chef  escorted  her  in  silence  to  the  servants' 
elevator.  There  was  a  button  to  push,  and  down  the 
girl  went,  rejoiced  at  passing  another  stage  of  her 
journey.  Five  minutes  more,  and  she  was  in  a  taxi, 
tearing  back  to  the  Dietz  Hotel. 

This  time  she  marched  boldly  to  a  lif t  in  a  long  row 
of  half  a  dozen.  "Fifteenth  floor,  please,"  she  said, 
as  if  she  owned  the  hotel;  and  was  taken  up  without 
question.  "Thanks  to  my  swell  clothes!"  she 
thought.  "Not  far  would  I  get  in  this  place  if  I 
had  on  my  old  black!" 

Armed  with  O'Reilly's  key  Clo  threaded  her  way 
through  several  corridors  and  arrived  at  the  door  of 
his  suite.  Her  fingers  shook  so  that  she  could  not 
find  the  lock,  and  as  she  fumbled  for  it,  the  door  of 
an  adjoining  suite  opened.  The  nerve-tried  girl 


THE  HORIZONTAL  PANEL  103 

started  as  if  she  had  been  shot,  and  dropped  the  key 
on  the  carpet. 

"Silly  fool!"  she  scolded  herself  as  she  stooped  to 
retrieve  it,  and  to  hide  her  face.  If  only  the  people 
(she  knew  by  the  voices  they  were  man  and  woman) 
would  pass  before  she  had  to  look  up!  But  they 
were  in  no  hurry  to  pass.  They  had  paused  in  front 
of  their  own  door,  and  were  talking  in  low  tones — 
about  her,  Clo  was  sure! 

In  a  big  hotel,  the  chances  were  ten  to  one  against 
their  knowing  O'Reilly.  Raising  her  head,  she  tried 
to  eye  the  pair  with  airy  arrogance. 

"I  mustn't  seem  to  care,"  she  thought,  and  tried 
to  wither  them  with  a  look  before  again  attacking 
the  keyhole.  The  woman  was  beautiful,  a  glorious, 
dark  creature,  gorgeously  dressed  and  jewelled.  But 
oddly  it  was  the  man  who  riveted  Clo's  attention,  the 
man  whose  eyes  gave  the  girl  an  electric  shock.  He 
was  a  tall,  lanky,  middle-aged  individual,  with  auburn 
hair  and  a  close-cut  red  beard  streaked  with  gray. 
He  walked  with  shoulders  bent,  and  had  no  distinc- 
tion, despite  his  well-cut  evening  clothes.  But  from 
under  a  pair  of  beetling  black  brows  there  flashed  a 
light  which  took  Clo's  breath  away.  She  didn't  know 
what  to  make  of  his  look.  It  was  as  if  she'd  been 
struck  by  lightning. 

"My  goodness,  after  all  he  must  be  a  friend  of 
O'Reilly's!"  she  feared.  Even  that  supposition 
wasn't  enough  to  account  for  the  flash.  Frightened, 
she  slid  the  key  into  the  lock,  and  almost  falling  into 
the  room  slammed  the  door  behind  her.  She  did 


104  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

not  need  to  lock  it,  for  without  a  key  it  could  not 
be  opened  from  the  outside. 

"I  can  hold  the  fort  a  few  minutes  now,  whatever 
happens!" 

In  the  corridor  John  Heron  and  his  wife  lingered 
in  front  of  their  own  door. 

"Well,  if  that's  not  the  queerest  thing  I  ever  saw  or 
heard  of!"  Heron  exclaimed. 

Coming  out  of  their  suite,  they  had  caught  an 
impressionist  glimpse  of  a  figure  in  white  bent  over 
the  keyhole,  then  the  figure  had  stooped  for  the 
dropped  key,  and  mechanically  they  had  paused  in 
surprise. 

"I  wonder  if  she's  made  a  mistake  in  the  room?" 
Mrs.  Heron  had  whispered,  and  Heron  had  returned  : 

"Yes,  I  think  that  must  be  so.  She'll  find  it  out 
and  go  somewhere  else.  O'Reilly  isn't " 

There  he  had  stopped  short  when  the  girl  raised 
her  head  to  face  them;  and  when  she  presently 
vanished  into  his  friend's  room  like  a  whirlwind,  he 
neither  finished  his  sentence  nor  answered  his  wife. 

"What's  the  matter,  Jack?"  Mrs.  Heron  asked. 
"How  odd  you  look!" 

("Jack"  was  not  a  nickname  that  suited  Heron, 
but  his  wife  thought  it  debonair.) 

"Why  don't  you  speak?"  she  persisted. 

"I  was  thinking,"  Heron  said  at  last. 

"Thinking  what  we  ought  to  do?"  his  wife  caught 
him  up.  "Shall  we  knock  and  ask  O'Reilly  if  he's 
ready  to  go  down  with  us?" 

"No.     We  can't  do  that." 


THE  HORIZONTAL  PANEL  105 

"I  suppose  not.  But  weren't  you  going  to  say  it 
isn't  like  O'Reilly  to  have  a  girl  calling  on  him  in  his 
rooms?" 

"I  don't  remember  what  I  was  going  to  say,"  he 
snubbed  her.  "It  doesn't  matter,  anyhow.  After 
all,  why  shouldn't  he?  What  is  it  to  us?" 

"Well,  I  feel  queer  about  it,"  objected  Dolores 
Heron.  "The  creature  may  be  a  hotel  thief?" 

"Nonsense!"  fumed  the  man.  "The  girl  was  a 
child — sixteen  or  seventeen.  We  can't  mix  our- 
selves up  in  such  an  affair.  Let's  mind  our  own 
business." 

"You  needn't  be  so  cross.  I  haven't  done  any- 
thing," Dolores  reproached  him.  They  went  down 
together,  and  sat  side  by  side  on  a  rose-coloured 
brocade  sofa  in  the  immense  salon  generally  known 
as  the  "hall."  Not  one  of  the  ladies  present  was 
handsomer  than  Mrs.  Heron,  not  one  had  more 
beautiful  jewels  or  a  more  perfect  dress,  and  all  the 
men  openly  admired  her — except  her  own  husband. 

Upstairs  the  girl  in  question  was  making  the  most 
of  every  moment.  The  queer  little  key  attached 
to  O'Reilly's  watch  couldn't  belong  to  the  desk,  still, 
there  might  be  a  box  inside  the  desk  which  it  would 
fit.  Clo  searched  everywhere  and  everything.  At 
last,  it  seemed  that  nothing  was  left  to  try,  when 
suddenly  she  recalled  a  paragraph  in  a  newspaper. 
She  had  seen  it  in  a  Sunday  Supplement.  Why,  yes, 
Miss  Blackburne,  the  pearl-stringer,  had  given  her 
the  paper  that  Sunday  long  ago  at  Yonkers,  to  read 
on  the  journey  home.  The  paragraph  described 


106  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

the  up-to-date  feature  added  to  some  important 
hotel.  Small  safes  had  been  placed  in  the  walls  of 
rooms  for  the  benefit  of  guests,  each  key  being  differ- 
ent in  design  from  every  other.  Clo  could  not  re- 
member the  name  of  the  hotel  referred  to.  Perhaps 
it  was  this  one.  If  not,  the  Dietz  wasn't  likely  to  let 
a  rival  get  ahead  of  it.  The  girl  stared  at  the  wall. 
Any  one  of  those  panels  might  conceal  a  safe !  There 
were  lots  of  panels  of  different  sizes,  painted  a  soft 
gray  and  edged  with  delicate  white  mouldings.  To 
test  each  would  take  hours  (unless  she  had  luck  and 
hit  on  the  right  one  first)  for  there  might  be  a  spring 
hidden  in  the  flowery  pattern  of  the  moulding. 
But — it  was  to  the  left  side  of  the  room  that  O'Reilly 
had  flung  his  anxious  glance.  She  would  begin,  and 
hoped  to  end,  her  work  on  the  left  side.  A  few  min- 
utes spent  in  thinking  out  the  situation,  however, 
might  save  many  minutes  by  and  by.  About  those 
panels,  for  instance?  Which  were  the  most  likely  to 
hide  a  secret? 

A  frieze  or  skirting-board  of  gray  painted  wood  ran 
round  the  room  to  a  height  of  three  feet  above  the 
pink-carpeted  floor.  Above  this  frieze,  distributed 
at  regular  intervals,  Were  large  plaster  panels,  two 
on  each  side  of  the  room,  forming  backgrounds  for 
gold-framed,  coloured  prints;  and  between  these 
were  small,  narrow  panels,  ornamented  with  con- 
ventional flower  designs.  Beneath  and  above  the 
latter  were  panels  still  smaller,  placed  horizontally, 
and  outlined  with  white  curlicues  and  flutings.  They 
were  about  four  inches  in  height  by  ten  inches  in 


THE  HORIZONTAL  PANEL  107 

length;  and  on  the  left  side  of  the  wall  there  were 
two. 

"Just  the  right  size  for  nice  big  jewel  boxes,"  Clo 
thought.  "And  the  lower  one's  just  the  right  height 
to  open  without  stretching  up.  If  I  were  putting  a 
safe  into  a  wall  that's  the  place  I'd  choose!" 

She  passed  her  finger  round  the  edge  of  one,  the 
white-fluted  edge,  rather  like  the  decoration  of  a 
fancy  cake.  Nothing  happened.  No  spring  clicked. 
She  tried  the  other  with  the  same  result,  then  stood 
disappointed,  only  to  return  to  the  attack  with  new 
inspiration. 

"I  bet  it  pulls  out!"  she  told  herself.  And — oh, 
joy,  oh  triumph! — it  did  pull  out  as  she  pressed  her 
sharp  little  nails  under  the  white  fluting.  The 
whole  thing  came  away  from  the  wall  like  the  loose 
side  of  a  box,  having  been  kept  in  place  by  thin 
prongs  of  metal.  Behind  this  cover  was  a  steel  or 
iron  door  of  practically  the  same  dimensions  as  the 
panel.  It  also  was  painted  gray,  and  showed  a  tiny 
keyhole  like  a  slit  made  with  a  pair  of  sharp  scissors. 

Clo  deposited  the  cover  close  by  on  the  desk,  where 
it  would  be  within  reach  if  wanted  in  a  hurry.  Then 
she  inserted  the  key  attached  to  O'Reilly's  watch. 
It  slipped  into  place.  It  turned.  It  opened  the 
small  iron  door,  and  Clo  peered  into  the  aperture. 
In  the  receptacle  lay  a  pile  of  greenbacks  held  to- 
gether with  a  paper  band.  There  was  also  an  envel- 
ope, but  not  the  envelope  the  girl  had  pictured.  It 
was  larger,  longer,  wider,  and  thicker.  It  seemed 
to  be  made  of  coarse  linen,  and  instead  of  the  dainty 


108  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

gold  seals  with  the  monogram  there  were  fire  official- 
looking  red  ones.  Clo's  heart  contracted.  It  seemed 
too  bad  to  be  true.  But  there  was  plenty  of  space 
in  this  envelope  to  contain  the  other,  as  well  as  its 
contents. 

"I'll  have  to  open  the  thing  and  look/*  Clo  half 
decided.  But  if  she  did,  how  could  she  make  sure 
of  what  she  wished  to  know?  If  the  envelope  with 
the  gold  seals  had  been  removed,  she  had  no  means 
of  recognizing  the  documents  it  had  contained 

She  took  the  linen  envelope  from  the  safe,  and 
turned  it  over.  Upon  the  other  side  was  an  address, 
written  in  a  strong,  peculiar  hand :  "  Justin  O'Reilly, 
care  of  The  Manager,  Columbian  Bank,  New  York 
City,"  she  read. 

There  was  just  one  reason  to  believe  that  the  en- 
velope contained  Mrs.  Sands'  papers;  Clo's  own 
strong,  instinctive  conviction. 

Tentatively  she  pressed  one  of  the  seals.  It 
cracked  across.  Another  went  the  same  way,  and 
as  she  touched  the  third  there  came  a  sound  of  talking 
outside  the  door.  "Open  it  for  me  with  your  pass- 
key, please,"  a  man  said.  It  was  O'Reilly's  voice. 


XIII 
"THERE  CAN  BE  NO  BARGAIN" 

WHEN  Bererley  Sands  had  shut  the  door  between 
Clodagh's  room  and  Sister  Lake's,  she  stood  silent 
before  Justin  O'Reilly. 

"Well,  Mrs.  Sands,"  he  said,  "I  must  congratulate 
you." 

"On — what?"  she  stammered.  She  looked  very 
young  and  humble,  not  at  all  the  proud  princess  who 
had  captured  Roger  Sands  against  his  will. 

O'Reillj  answered,  still  smiling  his  cruel  smile, 
"It's  not  too  late  for  congratulations  on  your  mar- 
riage, is  it?  By  the  way,  perhaps  one  wishes  well  to 
the  bride  and  congratulates  the  bridegroom!  I 
mean  nothing  invidious." 

"You  mean  to  hurt  me  all  you  can!"  Beverley 
cried. 

"I'm  on  the  other  side,  Mrs.  Sands." 

"Don't  I  know  that!"  she  answered  bitterly. 
"I've  known  since  I  saw  you  on  board  the  Santa 
Fe  Limited  that  day  last  September.  I  expected — 
some  one  else,  not  you.  But  I  guessed  in  an  instant 
why  you  had  come." 

"I  accepted  the  obligations  of  friendship,"  O'Reilly 
deigned  to  explain.  "And  that  brings  us  to  one  of 
the  subjects  for  congratulation :  your  friend.  A  won- 

109 


110  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

derful  young  person.  I  congratulate  you  highly 
upon  her.  She  informed  me  that  she'd  gladly  die 
for  you.  Judging  from  her  looks,  she  isn't  far  from 
doing  so.  I'm  sure  you  must  want  to  go  to  her  now. 
Oh,  by  the  by,  one  more  congratulation:  the  pearls." 

"How  did  you  know?"  Beverley  forgot 'her  hu- 
miliation in  sheer  amazement. 

"Weren't  you  told  that  Heron  was  trying  to  buy 
them  for  his  wife?"  O'Reilly  waived  her  question 
with  another. 

"No,  indeed!  They  were  a  surprise  present  to  me 
this  afternoon  from  my  husband.  If  I'd  known  that 
Mr.  Heron  .  .  ." 

"You  don't  expect  me  to  believe  you'd  have  sacri- 
ficed them  to  Heron,  or  his  wife,  do  you, Mrs.  Sands?  " 
O'Reilly  laughed. 

"I  almost  think  I  would.  I'll  give  the  pearls  up 
to  Mrs.  Heron  if  you'll  do  as — as  Clodagh  Riley 
asked  you  to  do.  Oh,  for  pity's  sake!  I'd  pay 
more  than  the  pearls  for  those  papers.  I'd  pay  with 
my  life  if  that  would  be  of  any  use.  I  know  it 
wouldn't.  But  the  pearls — can't  we  bargain  with 
the  pearls?" 

'We  can't  bargain  at  all,  Mrs.  Sands,"  O'Reilly 
said  gravely.  "I  must  go.  I  have  an  engagement 
to  dine  with  the  Herons.  I  should  like  to  hear  how 
my  namesake  is,  and  then  I  will  be  off." 

Beverley  had  expected  little  from  an  appeal  to 
this  man's  pity,  but  the  coincidence  of  Heron's 
desire  for  the  pearls  was  so  strange  that  it  ought  to 
mean  something.  It  seemed  terrible  that  such  a 


"THERE  CAN  BE  NO  BARGAIN"      111 

chance  should  be  wasted.  Could  she  persuade  Roger 
to  let  her  give  up  the  pearls?  O'Reilly  would  look 
at  the  wonderful  things  and  report  upon  their  beauty. 
The  Herons  might  be  tempted  to  treat  with  her.  In 
any  case,  the  scheme  was  worth  the  trial. 

Silently  she  went  to  the  door  that  she  had  closed, 
and  peeped  into  Sister  Lake's  room.  It  was  no  sur- 
prise to  her  that  Clodagh  should  have  vanished. 
That  was  part  of  the  plan.  Her  exclamation  was 
for  O'Reilly's  benefit. 

"The  child's  gone!"  she  cried.  "That  means 
she's  feeling  better.  She  must  be  in  my  room — or  in 
my  boudoir.  Will  you  come  with  me?  We'll  look 
for  her.  It  will  be  on  your  way  out." 

O'Reilly  followed  into  the  hall.  Beverley,  think- 
ing quickly,  went  to  the  door  of  her  own  special 
sitting  room,  which  adjoined  her  bedroom.  A 
backward  glance  told  her  that  the  man  had  stopped 
facing  the  vestibule  which  gave  exit  from  the  flat. 
"Wait  one  moment,"  she  said.  "I'll  see  where 
Clodagh  is."  As  she  touched  the  door  of  the  bou- 
doir she  was  surprised  to  find  it  yielding  before  she 
turned  the  handle.  This  was  odd,  because  she 
remembered  shutting  it  the  last  time  she  came  out. 
She  had  left  the  room  only  at  the  moment  when 
O'Reilly  brought  in  the  half -fain  ting  girl;  and  she 
had  been  particular  to  close  the  door  because  of  the 
pearls.  She  had  placed  them  on  a  table  in  the  bou- 
doir, ready  for  the  pearl-stringer.  Not  that  she 
feared  their  being  stolen!  Her  own  maid  had  been 
sent  out  for  the  afternoon.  Two  of  the  other 


112  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

vants  had  been  given  a  holiday.  Only  the  butler,  the 
cook,  and  his  assistant  were  at  home,  and  all  three 
had  been  in  Roger's  employ  for  years.  They  were 
above  suspicion,  and  besides,  they  knew  nothing  of 
the  pearls.  Not  a  soul  knew,  save  herself,  Roger, 
Clo,  and  now  O'Reilly.  Roger  had  started  off  in 
his  car  before  she  brought  the  pearls  from  her  bed- 
room into  the  boudoir.  Who,  then,  had  opened  the 
door?  Perhaps,  after  all,  Clo  had  not  dared  attempt 
the  second  adventure.  Perhaps  she  was  still  in  the 
flat,  and  for  some  reason  to  be  explained  later,  had 
taken  refuge  in  the  boudoir? 

A  glance,  however,  showed  that  the  girl  was  not 
there.  The  electric  light  flashed  upon  a  room  un- 
tenanted.  There  was  the  magnificent  but  broken 
rope  in  its  case,  wound  in  gleaming,  concentric  cir- 
cles, the  unstrung  pearls  retrieved  from  the  floor 
grouped  together  on  the  purple  cushion.  The  door 
stood  open  between  boudoir  and  bedroom.  Beverley 
thought  that  this  had  been  shut  also,  though  she 
was  not  sure.  "Clo!"  she  called  softly.  There  was 
some  slight  sound,  or  she  imagined  it.  Quickly  she 
went  to  the  bedroom  door,  and  peeped  in,  flooding 
the  place  with  light.  Clo  was  not  to  be  seen.  Turn- 
ing off  the  electricity  again  Beverley  went  out  to 
O'Reilly  in  the  hall. 

"Come  with  me  one  moment,"  she  said.  "I've 
something  to  show  you." 

O'Reilly  hesitated. 

"Is  your  friend  there?  Does  she  wish  to  speak  to 
me?"  he  asked. 


"THERE  CAN  BE  NO  BARGAIN"     113 

"Come  and  see,"  Beverley  persisted.  She  led 
the  way  into  the  boudoir,  and  reluctantly  her  com- 
panion crossed  the  threshold.  Mrs.  Sands  pointed  to 
the  pearls.  "I  wanted  so  much  to  show  them  to 
you.  See  how  wonderful  they  are!  Mr.  Heron's 
so  proud  of  his  wife.  I  could  arrange  some  plan,  I'm 
sure,  if — if " 

A  door  slammed,  and  Beverley's  sentence  broke 
off  with  a  gasp.  Mechanically  she  shut  down  the 
cover  of  the  velvet  case.  If  Roger  had  come  back; 
if,  after  all,  he  had  only  pretended  to  go  for  the  pearl- 
stringer!  She  dared  not  guess  what  he  would  think 
at  finding  O'Reilly  with  her  in  his  house.  Too  well 
she  remembered  the  day  of  their  one  quarrel,  when 
he  had  brought  up  this  man's  name  in  connection 
with  Clo's,  when  he  had  accused  her  of  crying  it  out 
in  her  sleep. 

"Mr.  O'Reilly,"  she  said,  very  quietly,  "that  may 
be  my  husband  coming  home.  If  it  is,  you  will  have 
to  meet  him.  It  can't  be  avoided.  But  I  should 
like  to  speak  to  him  first,  if  you  will  wait  in  this  room 
for  a  moment." 

Without  giving  him  time  to  answer  she  ran  out. 
Minutes  passed.  Justin  heard  voices,  women's 
voices.  One,  it  seemed  to  him,  was  raised  in  anger. 
After  all,  it  couldn't  be  Sands  who  had  come! 
O'Reilly  grew  impatient,  and  fumbling  for  his  watch 
he  found  it  gone.  Great  Scott!  Stolen!  He  remem- 
bered a  certain  small  key  attached  to  the  chain.  In 
a  flash  of  enlightenment  the  whole  plot  mapped  itself 
out  before  his  eyes.  Furious,  his  impulse  was  to  dash 


114  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

from  the  room  and  denounce  the  chief  culprit.  But 
Beverley  Sands'  appeal  to  his  chivalry  stopped  him 
like  a  chain  round  his  feet. 

Now  she  called  his  name,  and  he  opened  the  door. 

"It  was  my  friend's  nurse  who  came  in,'*  she  said. 
"She  threatens  to  leave  at  once.  I  must  talk  with 
her,  try  to  soothe  her  down  before  my  husband  comes. 
He  hasn't  arrived,  after  all — and  may  not  for  a  long 
time.  But  the  way  I  felt  when  I  thought  he  was 
here,  shows  me  I  oughtn't  to  keep  you.  Tell  me  once 
and  for  all  before  you  go,  now  you've  seen  the  pearls; 
is  there  any  hope?" 

"None  whatever,"  O'Reilly  cut  her  short.  "I'm 
going,  Mrs.  Sands.  You  need  have  no  fear  of  me 
where  your  husband's  concerned,  though  I  under- 
stand now  exactly  why  I  was  brought  here,  why  I 
was  kept  till  you  were  afraid  to  keep  me  longer. 
Your  little  friend  is  as  smart  at  picking  pockets  as 
she  is  at  acting.  Again,  I  congratulate  you  upon 
her.  But  the  effort's  going  to  be  wasted.  Good- 
night." 

Beverley  stood  still,  and  let  him  go.  She  had 
no  answer  to  make.  Precisely  what  he  meant  by 
his  accusation  she  did  not  understand,  but  she 
knew  that,  while  she  detained  him,  Clo  had  indeed 
dared  the  great  adventure.  For  a  moment  Beverley 
thought  of  the  pearls  almost  with  distaste.  That 
they  should  come  to  her  to-day,  when  she  cared  for 
nothing  in  the  world  but  the  lost  papers,  was  an 
irony  of  fate.  She  did  not  return  to  the  boudoir. 
She  forgot  the  mystery  of  the  open  door,  and  neg- 


lected  to  close  it.  She  was  nervously  anxious  to 
excuse  herself  to  Sister  Lake.  Above  all,  it  was  her 
duty  to  defend  Clo.  She  must  confess  that  it  was 
upon  her  errand  the  girl  had  defied  authority. 

"Please  don't  blame  the  child,"  she  pleaded. 
"She  knew  I  needed  something  done  for  me — a  thing 
I  couldn't  do  myself.  So  she  made  this  sacrifice. 
You  must  forgive  us  both." 

But  Sister  Lake  was  not  to  be  placated.  If  Miss 
Riley  were  well  enough  to  do  Mrs.  Sands'  errands 
by  day  and  night,  a  nurse's  services  were  no  longer 
needed.  Sister  Lake  considered  herself  well  paid, 
and  would  accept  no  present  in  addition.  The  butler 
was  summoned  to  call  a  taxi  and  attend  to  sending 
down  the  small  luggage.  Meantime  the  Queen's 
pearls  were  forgotten. 


XIV 
THE  STONE  COPING 

THIS  was  bad  luck !  Clo  had  not  expected  O'Reilly 
to  track  her  down  so  soon.  But  he  was  at  the  door. 
There  was  only  that  frail  barrier  of  wood,  and  the 
space  of  a  few  seconds  between  them!  He  had  dis- 
covered the  loss  of  his  door  key,  and  doubtless 
the  other  loss  as  well.  He  had  guessed  who  was  the 
thief,  and  what  was  the  thiefs  motive.  He  had 
hurried  home.  A  moment  more — just  the  little 
delay  of  fitting  in  a  pass  key — and  he  would  catch 
the  culprit  red-handed;  he  would  deprive  her  of  the 
spoils! 

Clear  as  a  "cut  in"  from  some  moving  picture,  a 
scene  rose  before  Clodagh's  eyes.  She  saw  herself 
at  grips  with  O'Reilly.  She  saw  him  wrench  the 
envelope  from  her  hands  as  she  resisted.  She  saw 
herself  sobbing  over  her  failure  and  Angel's  lost 
hopes.  That  picture  mustn't  come  true!  The  key 
attached  to  the  watch-chain,  she  had  removed  from 
the  safe  door,  and  had  laid  watch  and  all  on  a  buffet. 
Beside  them  she  had  placed  the  door  key.  Now,  as  the 
chambermaid  chattered  in  the  corridor,  and  O'Reilly 
made  light  of  his  loss,  Clodagh  moved  faster  than 
any  figure  in  a  moving  picture.  She  snatched  up 
everything  on  the  buffet,  pushed  all  into  the  safe, 

116 


THE  STONE  COPING  117 

softly  shut  the  steel  door,  concealed  it  with  the  panel 
which  slipped  readily  into  its  groove,  and  fled  into 
the  adjoining  bedroom. 

Lights  from  across  a  court  showed  that  the  sole 
doors  were  those  of  a  bath  and  a  clothes-closet. 
There  was  no  way  out  from  the  bedroom.  Entrance 
and  exit  to  the  suite  were  to  be  had  only  through  the 
sitting  room. 

"I  might  have  known,"  Clo  reflected.  Too  late 
she  recalled  that  through  the  nearest  door  had  ap- 
peared the  couple  in  evening  dress.  She  was  caught 
like  a  mouse  in  a  trap  (poor  mouse,  who  had  meant 
to  gnaw  the  encircling  net!)  caught  unless — unless! 
Her  heart  gave  a  leap  as  she  saw  the  one  way  out. 

The  night  was  warm,  and  the  window  had  been 
opened  wide  to  let  in  the  blue  dusk.  Light  from 
opposite  windows  giving  on  the  court  shone  upon  a 
stone  coping.  It  was  broad,  as  copings  go,  broad 
enough  for  some  white  roses  dropped  from  a  window 
above  to  lodge  without  falling  farther.  It  was  this 
conspicuous  splash  of  white  on  the  dark  stone  which 
put  into  Clo's  mind  the  word  "unless." 

The  chambermaid  was  rattling  her  pass  key  in 
the  lock.  If  the  thing  were  to  be  done,  it  must  be 
done  now!  Yes,  that  stone  coping  ran  all  the  way 
along  under  O'Reilly's  window  as  well  as  those 
opposite.  It  was  quite  fourteen  or  fifteen  inches  in 
width,  Clo  thought,  and  was  placed  twice  as  many 
inches  below  the  window  sill.  It  would  be  easy 
to  step  down  on  to  the  ledge;  and  only  a  short  dis- 
tance away  was  the  windo^  of  the  next  room,  a 


118  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

room  in  the  suite  occupied  by  the  couple  she  had 
seen.  That  window  was  open,  like  O'Reilly's.  Clo 
could  be  sure  of  this,  because  the  lace  curtains  were 
blowing  out  in  the  draught  from  some  other  win- 
dow. They  were  of  thick  lace  covered  with  em- 
broidery, and  if  one  could  catch  hold  of  a  curtain 
as  it  blew  the  stuff  wouldn't  tear.  As  for  the  stolen 
envelope,  it  was  safe  in  one  of  those  odd,  new-fash- 
ioned pockets  of  hers.  Hastily  she  made  it  more  se- 
cure with  a  big  pin,  by  which  she  fastened  it  to  the 
cloth  of  her  dress.  Thus  both  hands  were  free.  But 
it  took  courage  to  start! 

"Oh,  I  must,  I  must  do  it!"  she  thought,  her  body 
ice,  her  soul  aflame.  "It's  for  Angel!  If  I  don't 
look  down,  I  shall  be  all  right.  And  even  if  I  fall 
and  smash  like  an  egg  I'll  be  no  worse  off  than  before 
she  saved  me.  I'll  be  back  just  where  I  was  that 


Uninvited,  the  chambermaid  had  followed  O'Reilly 
into  the  next  room.  She  was  talking  volubly1 
hoping  that  he'd  mislaid  the  door  key,  that  it  hadn't 
been  stolen.  Clo,  in  making  her  dash  for  the  bed- 
room, had  quietly  closed  the  door  between,  but  she 
could  hear  that  the  two  were  talking. 

Anyhow,  the  girl  tried  to  think,  it  was  the  first 
step  that  cost  !  Once  outside  the  bedroom  window, 
plastered  against  the  wall,  the  danger  of  being  caught 
was  over.  O'Reilly  would  search  the  clothes-closet, 
and  peer  into  the  bath.  Then  he  would  suppose 
that  the  bird  was  already  flown.  Never  would  he 
dream  that  a  girl  would  dare  what  she  meant  to  dare. 


THE  STONE  COPING  119 

Oddly  enough,  that  reflection  decided  Clo  to 
act.  For  the  moment,  fear  left  her  free.  She 
stepped  briskly  over  the  window  sill  with  one  foot, 
and  landed  on  the  ledge.  It  felt  solid,  almost  com- 
forting; but  as  she  groped  for  it  with  the  other  foot, 
horror  caught  her  again,  poured  through  her  veins 
like  iced  water  and  made  her  heart  feel  a  dead  thing. 
She  tried  not  to  think  of  anything  except  that 
kind  curtain  flapping  in  the  wind.  She  clung  to  the 
window-frame  with  fingers  so  damp  that  they  slipped 
on  the  stone.  Holding  on  for  dear  life — yes,  life 
was  dear,  now  it  hung  by  a  thread! — she  edged 
along,  her  cheek  scraping  the  wall  as  she  moved. 
One  step,  two,  three — another  would  take  her  so 
far  that  she  must  let  go  of  the  window  frame.  Could 
she  reach  the  blowing  curtain?  A  few  moments  ago 
it  had  seemed  to  beckon.  Now  she  depended* on  it 
the  white  folds  eluded  her  hand.  If  the  wind  dropped, 
she  was  lost.  She  couldn't  help  thinking  of  all  the 
things  she  wished  not  to  think  of.  She  thought  of 
that  immense  depth  below  her  narrow  perch.  She 
didn't  believe  the  man  or  woman  lived  strong-minded 
enough  to  forget  it! 

As  she  reached  out  with  her  free  arm  for  the  cur- 
tain, a  light  sprang  up  from  the  room  she  had  left. 
O'Reilly  was  there,  searching  for  her.  It  had  been 
simple  to  say,  while  she  stood  on  a  solid  floor,  that 
he  would  not  look  out  of  the  window.  But  he  might 
look  out:  he  might  hear  her  feet  shuffling  along  the 
ledge.  If  his  head  appeared  now,  she  would  fall. 

The  girl  began  to  shake  all  over  like  a  winter  leaf 


120  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

on  a  high  branch.  She  would  have  to  go,  she 
thought.  But  the  curtain  was  blowing  very  near, 
so  near  that  she  ventured  another  step.  The  lace 
brushed  her  fingers.  With  a  last  effort  she  grasped 
a  fold.  Courage  came  back.  Now  she  had  let  go 
of  O'Reilly's  window  frame.  She  had  passed  on 
beyond  hope  of  return,  and  yet  she  had  no  firm  grasp 
upon  the  curtain.  Before  it  could  give  the  support 
a  rope  gives  a  climber,  she  must  slowly,  patiently, 
draw  it  toward  her  inch  by  inch  until  she  had  it 
taut. 

"Angel,  are  you  praying  for  me?"  she  wondered. 
Because  she  could  not  pray  for  herself.  She  could 
only  count.  Dimly,  she  felt.it  odd  that  it  should 
calm  her  nerves  to  count  each  time  her  fingers  closed 
upon  the  curtain.  But  it  did  calm  them. 

"Seven,  eight,  nine,  ten. "  The  fold  of  lace  began 
to  be  taut.  Drawing  it  toward  her,  she  started  on 
once  more  on  that  endless  journey  of  a  few  inches. 
Thank  heaven,  the  light  in  O'Reilly's  bedroom  had 
been  switched  off.  The  man  must  have  given  up 
the  chase,  and  gone  back  to  the  sitting  room.  For 
the  present  she  was  safe  from  him.  But  what  a 
queer  word  "safe"  was,  just  then.  "Eleven,  twelve, 
thirteen."  Thanks  to  the  curtain  rope,  she  had 
almost  reached  her  goal.  "Fourteen,  fifteen." 
She  had  got  so  far  that  she  could  let  the  curtain  go 
and  fling  her  arms  over  the  window  sill.  She  threw 
her  body  upon  it,  and  lay  still  for  an  instant,  utterly 
spent  now  the  strain  was  over.  But  was  it  over? 
No,  not  yet.  If  her  feet  slipped  from  the  coping, 


THE  STONE  COPING  121 

she  would  have  no  strength  for  the  effort  of  climbing 
in  at  the  window.  She  would  hang  for  a  minute  and 
then — drop. 

"The  papers."  she  reminded  herself,  for  a  mental 
tonic.  "They're  so  nearly  safe  now.  Brace  up, 
Clo!  A  minute  more  and  you'll  be  out  of  trouble." 

The  room  beyond  was,  like  O'Reilly's,  unlighted. 
Thank  goodness,  there'd  be  no  squalling  lady's  maid 
to  give  an  alarm.  Clo  allowed  herself  time  to 
breathe,  resting  on  the  window  sill.  Then  she 
prepared  to  draw  herself  over.  Wrapping  the  cur- 
tain round  her  right  hand,  and  clutching  the  lace 
firmly  with  her  left  hand,  she  found  a  heavy  piece  of 
furniture  just  inside  the  window.  It  seemed  to  be 
a  dressing-table  with  a  mirror  suspended  between  two 
spiral  posts.  Grasping  one,  Clo  pulled  the  table 
closer,  till  it  refused  to  move.  This  gave  a  lever  on 
which  she  might  depend.  She  clung  to  the  curtain 
and  post,  till  she  could  plant  first  one  knee,  then  its 
fellow,  on  the  window  sill.  It  seemed  an  easy  thing  to 
do,  and  would  have  been  easy  had  not  her  strength 
been  nearly  spent.  Her  quivering  muscles  responded 
slowly  to  this  last  call,  but  they  did  respond.  Soon 
she  was  kneeling  on  the  window  sill.  Then  one  foot 
was  over,  groping  for  the  floor.  She  had  just  found 
it  when  a  key  grated  in  a  lock,  and  before  she  could 
hide  behind  the  curtains  a  door  opened  wide.  A 
flood  of  light  streamed  in  from  the  corridor,  and  out- 
lined her  white  form  against  the  blue  background 
of  the  night. 


XV 
THE  NUMBER  SEVENTEEN 

To  GO  back  meant  death,  and  the  loss  of  Beverley's 
papers.  Besides,  she  had  been  seen.  For  once,  Clo's 
wits  refused  to  work.  Like  a  frozen  flower,  she  re- 
mained motionless  in  the  window. 

The  figure  in  the  doorway  was  that  of  a  man. 
The  light  coming  from  behind  made  his  face  a  blank 
for  her  eyes,  but  the  girl  saw  that  he  was  taller  than 
O'Reilly  and  of  a  different  build.  Perhaps  it  was 
the  owner  of  the  suite,  he  who  had  gone  out  with  the 
beautiful  woman.  The  man  made  no  move.  He 
stood  in  the  doorway  as  if  rooted  to  the  floor.  "My 
God!"  Clo  heard  him  mutter. 

"The  fool  takes  me  for  a  ghost,"  she  thought. 
"Now's  my  chance,  before  he  plucks  up  courage!" 

Down  came  the  other  white  shoe  on  the  carpet 
with  no  more  noise  than  a  rose-petal  falling.  Then 
followed  a  second  of  indecision.  Should  she  risk 
pushing  the  man  aside,  and  fleeing  past  him  into  the 
hall?  No,  her  touch  would  break  the  spell.  She 
must  go  on  with  the  ghost-play,  and  vanish  in  the 
dark! 

Light  from  outside  showed  her  the  open  door  of  an 
adjoining  room.  Thence  came  the  draught  which 
had  set  the  curtains  blowing.  Clo  took  a  few  float- 

122 


THE  NUMBER  SEVENTEEN          123 

ing  steps  toward  the  man,  then  dodged  aside,  and 
disappeared  into  the  room  beyond.  Softly  she 
closed  the  communicating  door  and  slid  the  bolt. 
Almost  opposite  where  she  stood  opened  a  cross 
passage  leading  to  a  wing  of  the  hotel.  With  a 
bound  she  reached  it,  not  daring  to  look  behind,  yet 
listening  with  the  ear  of  the  hunted  for  the  hunter, 
as  she  ran.  Coming  to  a  staircase  the  girl  plunged 
down  it  two  steps  at  a  time.  On  the  floor  below, 
however,  she  ventured  to  moderate  her  pace.  This 
was  the  dinner  hour;  most  of  the  guests  would  be  in 
the  restaurant,  or  out  of  the  hotel  for  the  evening; 
but  there  would  be  servants  about.  Clo  forced 
herself  to  descend  sedately,  flight  after  flight  of 
stairs,  not  daring  to  enter  a  lift.  At  last,  when  it 
seemed  that  she  had  come  to  earth  from  the  top  of 
Jacob's  ladder,  the  stairway  ended.  Timidly  follow- 
ing a  passage  that  opened  before  her,  she  ventured 
into  a  wide,  important  hall. 

There  was  a  cloakroom  in  the  hall.  Ladies  were 
going  into  it  and  coming  out.  Clo  heard  music  in 
the  distance  and  saw  a  marble  balustrade.  This 
balustrade  was  for  her  a  landmark.  She  knew  by  it 
that  she  must  have  reached  the  story  above  the 
ground  floor,  and  that  the  large  corridor  of  the  cloak- 
room opened  on  to  a  gallery  overlooking  the  main 
hall.  She  had  glanced  up  and  admired  that  marble 
balustrade  when  she  first  entered  the  hotel.  She 
had  seen  also  a  wide  marble  staircase  leading  up  to 
the  gallery.  It  must  be  near,  she  thought,  but  it 
was  a  way  of  exit  to  avoid.  If  O'Reilly  were  on 


THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

guard  below,  or  even  if  he  had  merely  telephoned  her 
description  to  the  office,  she  and  the  stolen  envelope 
would  be  promptly  nabbed  in  the  hall  below.  She 
had  dared  too  much  to  be  tamely  taken  now.  Mir- 
rors were  let  into  the  panels  of  the  wall,  and  Clo 
paused  before  one,  pretending  to  straighten  her  hat. 
She  wanted  time  to  make  up  her  mind. 

The  ladies  who  left  their  wraps  in  this  upstairs 
cloakroom  must  be  dining  in  private  rooms  on  the 
same  floor,  she  thought.  "Out  there  in  the  gallery 
their  men  will  be  waiting  for  them,"  the  girl  told 
herself.  "And  maybe  that's  where  my  man  is  wait- 
ing for  me!'* 

One  of  these  ladies,  opening  a  gold  chain  bag  to 
pull  out  her  handkerchief,  dropped  a  bit  of  paper 
with  a  number  on  it — Clo's  favourite  number,  17. 
It  fluttered  close  to  her  feet;  she  stooped  and  picked 
it  up.  Common  sense  told  her  that  the  numbered 
slip  was  a  cloakroom  check.  It  might  mean  sal- 
vation. She  walked  leisurely  into  the  cloakroom, 
though  her  nerves  were  a-jerk  like  the  strings  of  a 
jumping- jack.  "My  cousin  has  asked  me  to  come 
and  fetch  her  wrap,"  she  explained  to  a  bored  atten- 
dant. "There's  a  draught  through  the  dining  room. 
This  is  her  check." 

The  woman  accepted  it  without  a  word.  She 
presently  produced  a  long  wrap  of  black  chiffon, 
lined  with  blue.  "Number  seventeen.  Here  you 
are,  miss."  So  speaking,  she  removed  the  duplicate 
check^which  had  been  pinned  to  a  frilled  hood  of  the 
cloak.  At  sight  of  that  hood  a  weight  lifted  from 


THE  NUMBER  SEVENTEEN          125 

Clo's  heart.  It  was  more  ornamental  than  practical, 
but  it  would  be  immensely  useful  to  her.  If  she 
had  been  given  her  choice  of  cloaks,  she  couldn't 
have  done  better.  Seventeen  was  bringing  her  luck. 

"Oh,  I  believe  I'd  better  leave  my  hat!  "she  said 
to  the  attendant,  as  if  on  a  second  thought.  Unsus- 
piciously the  woman  took  it,  pinned  a  bit  of  paper 
to  the  lining,  and  handed  the  duplicate  to  Clo.  "No- 
body's got  seventeen  now,  so  I'll  give  it  to  you  again." 
This  seemed  a  good  omen:  seventeen  for  the  second 
time!  With  the  cloak  over  her  arm  she  sauntered 
out  of  the  room.  Then  back  she  went  to  the  foot  of 
the  stairs,  where  was  a  quiet  niche  behind  a  big, 
potted  palm,  and  close  by  was  one  of  those  conven- 
ient panel  mirrors.  Thus  refuged,  Clo  slipped  into 
the  wrap,  and  arranged  the  floppy  hood.  It  was 
far  from  becoming,  for  the  frill  fell  almost  to  her  eyes; 
but  it  hid  the  tell-tale  red  hair,  and  showed  little  of 
her  face  save  the  end  of  an  impudent  nose  and  the 
tip  of  a  pointed  chin.  The  cloak,  made  for  a  taller 
figure  than  Clo's,  came  nearly  to  her  feet,  and  hold- 
ing it  together  the  white  dress  became  invisible. 

"Now  for  it!"  she  thought,  like  a  soldier  who  goes 
"over  the  top"  to  charge  the  enemy.  Head  down, 
hood  flapping,  cloak  floating,  she  sailed  along  the 
corridor  and  out  into  the  gallery  beyond.  Yes,  there 
was  the  marble  staircase,  and  below  was  the  great, 
bright  hall;  but  in  this  disguise  she  could  pass 
O'Reilly  if  he  had  assembled  half  the  detectives  in 
New  York.  So  she  tripped  down  the  stairs,  sedate, 
unhurried  as  the  care-free  girl  whose  cloak  she  had 


126  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

borrowed.  Arrived  in  the  hall,  she  knew  her  way 
out,  and  could  hardly  subdue  the  triumph  in  her 
voice  as  she  said  "Taxi,  please,"  to  an  attendant 
porter. 

"Where  shall  I  tell  him  to  go,  miss?'*  came  the 
question  as  she  stepped  into  the  cab;  and  for  half  a 
second  she  hesitated.  By  a  clock  she  had  seen  in  the 
hall  it  was  just  half-past  eight.  There  would  be 
time  to  go  home,  time  for  Angel  to  open  the  envelope 
and  see  if  the  contents  were  right,  time  to  tell  Angel 
her  own  adventures,  and  time  to  rest  before  keeping 
her  tryst  with  Peterson. 

She  gave  the  number  of  the  house  in  Park  Avenue 
where  Roger  Sands  lived.  The  door  of  the  taxi  shut 
with  a  reassuring  "click.'*  It  wras  heavenly  to  lean 
back  against  the  comfortable  cushions!  She  ought 
to  be  entirely  happy,  entirely  satisfied.  Perhaps  it 
was  only  reaction  after  so  many  hopes  and  fears,  this 
weight  that  seemed  to  press  upon  her  heart.  Yet  it 
was  an  obstinate  weight.  It  grew  heavier  as  the  taxi 
brought  her  nearer  home. 


XVI 
A  QUOTATION  FROM  SHAKESPEARE 

"NoT  easily  jealous,  but,  being  wrought, 

Perplexed  in  the  extreme." 

The  words  describing  Othello's  torment  rang  in 
Roger  Sands'  ears. 

The  words  kept  time  with  the  purring  throb  of  the 
motor  that  sped  him  on  his  wife's  errand.  Certain 
it  was  that  he  had  not  been  easily  jealous! 

He  had  married  a  girl  with  a  secret  to  keep,  and  he 
had  never  questioned  her.  He  had  made  her  a  queen ; 
and  he  was  her  loyal  subject.  She  ruled  him  and  his 
kingdom.  Only  to-day  he  had  given  her  a  queen's 
pearls.  They  were  his  atonement  for  an  hour  of  dis- 
trust. How  had  she  rewarded  him?  Roger  re- 
viewed the  afternoon,  since  the  presentation  of  the 
pearls,  and  there  were  details  which  he  saw  in  a 
new  light.  So  desperate  had  been  her  mysterious 
haste  that  she  had  broken  the  rope  of  pearls,  and 
had  not  even  stopped  to  pick  up  the  scattered 
splendour. 

Roger  Sands'  heart  had  been  hard  toward  his  wife 
when  they  met.  He  had  settled  upon  a  policy  of 
silence  for  the  present,  while  in  self-protection  he 
watched  developments.  He  agreed  quietly  to  Bever- 
ley's  request  that  he  should  fetch  the  pearl-stringer, 

127 


128  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

though  feeling  a  cold,  sick  certainty  of  her  motive  in 
making  it. 

He  went,  as  he  had  given  his  word  that  he  would 
go,  to  27  Elm  Street,  Yonkers.  Miss  Blackburne 
herself  answered  his  ring:  and  when  the  name  of  Clo 
Riley  was  mentioned,  she  said  at  once  that  she  would 
accompany  Mr.  Sands.  Roger  was  kept  waiting 
only  while  Miss  Blackburne  took  leave  of  her  mother, 
gathered  together  her  materials,  and  packed  a  small 
bag;  for  it  was  clear  that,  if  the  pearl-stringer  were  to 
finish  her  work  in  one  sitting,  she  would  have  to  spend 
the  night  in  Park  Avenue. 

The  little  woman,  whose  face  seemed  almost 
featureless  to  Roger  Sands,  was  interested  in  the  man 
as  well  as  in  the  mission.  The  pearl-stringer  had 
often  heard  of  him  in  various  ways;  and  her  work 
took  her  into  a  set  who  knew,  or  gossiped,  about  his 
private  affairs.  She  had  listened  to  women's  talk 
concerning  Mrs.  Sands,  "the  girl  from  nowhere," 
and,  though  Miss  Blackburne  was  "good  as  gold," 
she  did  enjoy  a  little  spicy  scandal.  She  could  in 
future  make  herself  quite  interesting  to  some  of  her 
regular  clients  by  telling  how  she  had  worked  for 
Mrs.  Roger  Sands;  and  not  only  for  their  sakes,  but 
her  own,  did  she  look  forward  to  this  "job." 

Secretly,  Ellen  Blackburne  planned  some  day  to 
write  a  volume  of  reminiscences,  and  she  had  a  "feel- 
ing," as  she  sat  in  discreet  silence  beside  Roger  Sands 
in  his  car,  that  to-night  she  would  get  material  for 
particularly  good  notes.  She  was  conscious  that  his 
nerves  were  tensely  strung.  "It's  just  as  if  he  were 


A  QUOTATION  FROM  SHAKESPEARE   129 

sitting  in  a  thunder  cloud  charged  full  of  electricity, 
with  me  getting  some  of  the  shocks,"  she  told  herself, 
thinking  of  her  notebook,  where  she  would  make 
entries  when  she  got  home. 

It  was  nearly  a  quarter  past  eight  when  Roger's 
latch-key  opened  the  door  of  his  apartment.  Miss 
Blackburne  was  impressed,  not  only  by  the  magni- 
ficence of  the  hall,  but  by  the  originality  of  its  decora- 
tion. 

Roger,  having  let  himself  and  the  pearl-stringer 
in  with  his  latch-key,  regretted  that  he  had  done  so. 
He  did  not  want  to  see  Beverley  alone  just  then.  It 
would  be  better  to  have  her  summoned  by  a  servant. 
Miss  Blackburne  was  too  observant  of  tiny  details 
not  to  notice  that  he  stepped  back  and  pushed  the 
electric  bell  outside  the  door,  which  he  had  not 
yet  closed.  And  when  he  said  to  the  butler:  "Please 
tell  Mrs.  Sands  that  I  have  been  able  to  bring  back 
Miss  Blackburne,"  the  small  student  of  character 
guessed  at  once  that  he  wished  to  avoid  meeting  his 
wife. 

The  hall  was  large,  and  furnished  like  an  extra 
drawing-room,  therefore  it  was  not  inhospitable  that 
Roger  should  leave  the  pearl-stringer  alone  there, 
with  the  excuse  that  he  must  dress  for  dinner.  He 
was,  he  explained,  going  to  his  club.  As  he  made 
this  announcement,  however,  and  before  the  butler 
could  carry  the  message  to  Mrs.  Sands,  a  dazzling 
vision  appeared.  It  could  be  no  other,  Miss  Black- 
burne felt,  than  Mrs.  Sands  herself;  and  she  was 
right,  for  Beverley  had  dressed  with  unusual  speed, 


130  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

yet  with  unwonted  pains,  in  order  to  be  ready  for 
Roger's  return. 

The  Vision  came  into  the  hall  before  the  butler  had 
been  able  to  deliver  the  message,  and  his  wife's 
arrival  whilst  the  man  was  present  gave  Roger  an 
opportunity  he  would  not  miss.  There  was  a  ques- 
tion he  wished  to  ask  the  old  servant,  in  Beverley's 
hearing,  but  he  had  not  expected  the  chance  to  come 
so  soon.  The  butler  retreated,  stepping  aside  re- 
spectfully to  let  Mrs.  Sands  pass.  But  before  the 
man  could  efface  himself,  and  before  greeting  Bever- 
ley,  Roger  exclaimed,  "Oh,  by  the  by,  Johnson,  has 
any  one  been  here  since  I  went  out?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  the  butler  replied,  "one  gentleman  has 
been.  He " 

But  the  vision  intervened.  "The  gentleman 
wasn't  a  visitor,  Johnson,"  she  said,  a  sharp  note  in 
her  voice,  almost  an  agonized  note.  "You  ought  to 
explain  to  Mr.  Sands  that  he  came  only  to  bring  Miss 
Riley  home."  Then  she  hurried  on,  snatching  the 
explanation  from  the  servant's  mouth,  though  she 
had  ordered  him  to  make  it:  "The  poor  child  came 
back  quite  done  up,  nearly  fainting.  She  had  to  be 
helped  in,  almost  carried.  The  man  stayed  just  long 
enough  to  hear  that  she  was  better.  Is  it  Miss 
Blackburne  you've  been  lucky  enough  to  find,  and 
bring  back  to  me?" 

All  this  rushed  out  in  a  breath.  The  lovely  lady 
in  white  and  silver  smiled  at  the  small  person  in 
brown  pongee.  But  Roger  Sands  was  not  a  man  easy 
to  play  with. 


A  QUOTATION  FROM  SHAKESPEARE   131 

"  Yes,  it  is  Miss  Blackburne,"  he  quietly  answered. 
"What  was  the  gentleman's  name,  Johnson?  Did 
you  hear  it?" 

There  was  a  trifling  pause  while  the  servant  replied. 
Mrs.  Sands  was  still  faintly  smiling,  a  mechanical 
smile,  and  her  eyes  were  suddenly  dull  as  glass. 

"Yes,  sir,  I  believe  I  heard  the  name  mentioned," 
Johnson  admitted.  "I  thought  it  was  the  same  as 
the  young  lady's;  Riley  or  O'Riley.  As  Mrs.  Sands 
remarks,  sir,  he  wasn't  exactly  calling,  so  the  name 
wasn't  announced.  It  only  reached  my  ears." 

Roger  looked  straight  at  Beverley.  The  gaze  was 
a  challenge.  "Was  it  Justin  O'Reilly  who  came?" 
he  inquired;  and  his  eyes  said:  "if  your  conscience  is 
clean,  you'll  understand  that  I'm  not  trying  to  ex- 
tract any  confession.  I  give  you  the  chance  to  clear 
yourself,  here  and  now,  that's  all." 

But  Beverley's  face  was  flooded  with  one  of  her 
painful  blushes,  that  always  came  when  she  wanted 
them  least.  She  realized,  too  late,  that  Roger  had 
enquired  of  Johnson  because  he  suspected,  perhaps 
even  knew,  that  O'Reilly  had  been  in  the  house. 

"Yes,  it  was  Justin  O'Reilly  who  came  and  stopped 
about  ten  minutes,"  she  answered,  trying  to  keep  her 
voice  as  calm  as  Roger's.  "But  this  isn't  very  in- 
teresting to  Miss  Blackburne.  It  was  good  of  her 
to  give  up  her  Sunday  evening!  Shall  we " 

"Just  a  moment,  please,"  Roger  broke  in,  still  in 
that  deadly  quiet  voice  which,  it  seemed,  could  betray 
nothing  to  a  stranger,  but  for  Beverley  was  a  knife 
at  her  heart.  "I  must  go  out  presently.  Before 


132  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

starting  to  dress  I  should  like  to  hear  the  latest  news 
about  your  protegee.  She  looked  all  right,  and  not 
inclined  to  faint,  when  I  saw  her  tripping  into  the 
house,  just  before  I  came  in  from  my  walk  some  time 
ago.  By  the  by  I  think  Mr.  O'Reilly  must  have 
been  with  her  then.  He  was  passing  the  house,  I 
noticed." 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  that,"  the  answer 
came  slowly.  "Clo  didn't  mention  seeing  Mr. 
O'Reilly  at  that  time.  She  rested  and  went  out 
again  later.  Johnson  was  speaking  of  her  second 
return." 

Beverley  knew  that  her  husband  could  easily  have 
questioned  Johnson  behind  her  back,  and  then  have 
entrapped  her  perhaps,  through  her  ignorance  of 
what  had  passed.  He  had  chosen  instead,  to  be  as 
frank  as  he  was  hard ;  and  while  she  suffered,  Beverley 
.thanked  her  husband  for  cold  justice. 

"I  must  dress  now,"  Roger  said  heavily.  "I  am 
dining  at  my  club." 

Murmuring  some  civility  to  Miss  Blackburne, 
Sands  turned  away.  A  moment  more,  and  his  wife 
heard  his  bedroom  door  shut.  At  the  sound  it 
seemed  that  her  heart  must  die  in  her  breast!  She 
felt  a  sensation  of  physical  sickness,  and  would  have 
given  anything  not  to  have  the  pearl-stringer  on  her 
hands.  Here  the  woman  was,  however,  and  could 
not  be  treated  with  discourtesy! 

"  You  will  dine  with  me,  of  course,  before  beginning 
your  work,"  Beverley  said,  trying  to  be  cordial.  But 
Miss  Blackburne  smiled  and  shook  her  head.  She 


had  had  "high  tea"  at  home  with  her  mother,  and 
could  eat  nothing  more,  she  replied,  thanking  Mrs. 
Sands. 

"I'll  take  you  to  my  boudoir,"  Beverley  said 
kindly  to  the  little  woman  in  brown.  "The  pearls 
are  there.  You'll  be  surprised  at  their  beauty." 

Miss  Blackburne  let  her  hostess  lead  the  way. 
"There's  a  drama  here,  all  right!"  she  told  herself. 
"Has  it  anything  to  do  with  the  pearls?  But  I  shall 
know  soon,  I  bet!" 

The  Vision  opened  the  door  of  a  charming  room. 
The  light  was  already  switched  on,  and  the  new- 
comer noticed  that  a  door  stood  wide  open  between 
the  boudoir  and  the  bedroom,  which,  also,  was 
lighted.  Miss  Blackburne  guessed  that  Mrs.  Sands 
had  only  just  finished  dressing  in  a  hurry  as  her  hus- 
band came  into  the  house.  Perhaps,  on  account 
of  the  pearls,  her  maid  had  been  released  from  duty. 
Anyhow,  someone  had  forgotten  to  turn  off  the 
lights,  and  .  .  .  but  Mrs.  Sands  herself  was 
explaining. 

*I  left  the  door  open  between  my  room  and  this 
while  I  dressed,"  she  said,  "because  of  what  you  see 
on  this  table.  I  thought  it  might  as  well  be  here,  as 
anywhere  else,  all  ready  and  waiting  for  you." 

She  made  a  nervous  gesture,  and  Miss  Blackburne 
saw  on  the  table  indicated  a  large  oval  case  of  purple 
velvet,  slightly  old-fashioned  looking,  and  adorned 
with  a  splendid  gold  crown.  The  pearl-stringer  knew 
something  about  crowns  and  coronets:  duchesses, 
countesses,  baronesses,  and  small  fry  like  that.  But 


134  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

this  crown  was  royal.  She  was  going  to  get  good 
"copy"  for  her  notes! 

Beverley's  hand  moved  toward  the  purple  case. 
She  was  in  a  desperate  hurry  to  get  her  business  with 
Miss  Blackburne  over,  and  escape  into  the  hall  again. 
She  must  try  to  have  a  word  with  Roger  before  he 
went,  though  she  dared  not — literally  dared  not — go 
to  his  room. 

"You'll  see  the  pearls,  and "  she  had  begun, 

when  her  ears  caught  the  sound  of  an  electric  bell; 
a  loud,  insistent  peal. 


XVII 
THE  MYSTERY  OF  THE  BOUDOIR 

"IT'S  Roger,"  Beverley  thought.  "He's  ringing 
for  Johnson — perhaps  to  ask  more  questions!" 

"I  must  speak  to  my  husband,"  she  said  to  Miss 
Blackburne.  "The  pearls  are  in  that  case.  There 
are  two  hundred  and  fifty.  About  thirty  came  un- 
strung. You'll  see  for  yourself  how  they  ought  to  be 
graduated.  I'll  be  with  you  again  in  a  few  minutes." 

She  flew  to  the  hall,  hoping  to  intercept  Johnson 
before  he  could  reach  Roger's  room.  But  the  man 
was  not  on  his  way  there.  It  was  the  sound  of  the 
door-bell  she  had  heard.  Johnson  was  in  the  act 
of  admitting  a  girl  in  a  black  chiffon  cloak  lined  with 
blue.  A  large  frilled  hood  pulled  over  the  wearer's 
eyes  hid  the  profile  from  Beverley.  The  girl  turned; 
it  was  Clo. 

"I'll  go  with  you  to  your  room,"  Beverley  said, 
controlling  her  voice  for  the  benefit  of  Johnson,  and 
trying  not  to  show  how  frantic  was  her  haste.  It 
was  only  when  she  had  noiselessly  closed  the  door 
of  the  big,  bare  room,  that  she  dared  let  herself  go. 

"What's  happened?"  she  implored.  "Why  are 
you  dressed  like  this?  Of  course  you  haven't  got 
the  papers?" 

"I  dressed  like  this  to  make  a  get-away,"  said  Clo. 

135 


136  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

"I  stole  the  cloak.  I'll  tell  you  everything  by 
and  by.  But  first,  you  must  find  out  for  yourself 
whether  I've  got  the  papers.  I've  got  something — 
something  in  a  thick  envelope.  That's  all  I 
know." 

She  threw  off  the  cloak  of  the  girl  at  the  Dietz,  and 
unpinned  the  pocket  which  held  the  precious  pack- 
age— the  pocket  which,  thanks  to  the  pin,  had 
guarded  its  contents  through  the  whole  series  of  her 
adventures. 

Beverley  took  the  large  linen  envelope,  not  even 
thanking  Clo.  Neither  noticed  the  omission. 

"Addressed  to  Justin  O'Reilly!"  she  exclaimed. 
"It's  the  right  size.  But  what  makes  you  think 
it  may  have  my  envelope  inside?" 

"Because  it  was  carefully  hidden  in  a  safe  in  the 
wall.  I  thought  of  opening  it  to  make  sure.  There 
wasn't — enough  time." 

"I'll  open  it  .  .  .  now!"  said  Beverley.  Hei 
words  were  firm,  yet  she  hesitated,  and  turning  the 
envelope  over,  stared  at  the  five  official-looking  red 
seals.  What  if  it  should  contain  legal  documents 
belonging  to  some  client  of  O'Reilly's? 

"Tap — tap!"  came  at  the  door. 

Beverley  laid  the  envelope  on  the  glass  table,  where 
Clo's  medicine  bottles  once  had  stood.  Over  the  red 
seals  she  flung  her  handkerchief,  lest  it  should  be 
Roger  at  the  door. 

Meanwhile,  Clo  had  answered  the  knock  and  re- 
vealed Johnson. 

"Madam,  the  lady  who  came  with  Mr.  Sands 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  THE  BOUDOIR    137 

wishes  to  see  you  immediately;  it's  very  urgent," 
he  announced. 

"Say  I'll  be  there  in  a  few  minutes,"  she  replied. 
"I  can't  come  just  yet." 

Johnson  departed.  "Madam  will  come  in  a  few 
minutes,"  he  repeated  to  Miss  Blackburne,  who  had 
been  anxiously  awaiting  him  at  a  half-open  door. 
"I  think,"  he  added,  "she  is  busy,  miss." 

"In  that  case,"  suggested  the  pearl-stringer,  "per- 
haps you'd  better  call  Mr.  Sands." 

"Very  well,  miss,  I'll  do  so."  Johnson  turned 
away,  and  Miss  Blackburne  retreated  to  the  boudoir. 

But  it  occurred  to  Clo  that  Roger  might  be  sum- 
moned if  Beverley  delayed. 

"Something  must  be  worrying  Miss  Blackburne," 
she  said.  "I  wonder  if  it's  anything  you'd  like  Mr. 
Sands  to  mix  up  in,  or  if  you'd  rather  attend  to  it 
yourself?  You  know,  we've  lots  of  time  before  ten 
o'clock.  If  the  papers  are  in  this  envelope,  it's  all 
right.  If  not,  there's  nothing  doing." 

Just  why  Beverley  did  not  want  Roger  to  go  to  her 
boudoir  she  hardly  knew,  unless  she  feared  that  a 
pearl  might  be  missing,  and  that  Roger  would  be 
more  vexed  than  he  was  already.  Whatever  the 
motive  in  her  mind,  she  felt  suddenly  impelled 
to  haste.  Even  with  Clo  she  could  not  leave 
the  envelope.  Wrapping  it  in  the  handkerchief  to 
hide  the  address,  she  hurried  off  with  it  in  her 
hand. 

"You  sent  for  me,  Miss  Blackburne?"  she  asked, 
as  she  threw  open  the  door. 


138  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

The  pearl-stringer  stood  by  the  table,  looking  pale 
and  strange. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Sands,"  she  exclaimed,  "you  told  me 
the  pearls  were  in  their  case,  but  they're  not.  I 
found  it  empty.  You  must  have  laid  them  some- 
where else." 

Beverley  wondered  whether  she  had  become  tem- 
porarily insane,  and  had  hidden  the  pearls  in  a  place 
already  forgotten.  But  in  her  heart  she  knew  that 
nothing  of  the  sort  had  happened. 

"No,"  she  said,  answering  herself  as  well  as  Miss 
Blackburne,  "I  didn't  touch  the  pearls  after  I  put 
them  away,  and  brought  them  in  here.  Oh,  please 
don't  tease  me!  This  is  too  serious!" 

"Tease  you!"  echoed  Miss  Blackburne.  "Why, 
Mrs.  Sands,  I  wouldn't  do  such  a  thing!  I  wish  to 
goodness  I'd  insisted  on  your  staying  till  I'd  opened 
the  case  and  counted  the  pearls.  I  don't  think  I 
was  ever  so  foolish  before!  Now,  maybe  you'll  be- 
lieve that  I've  sto " 

"No — no!"  exclaimed  Beverley,  calmed  by  the 
other's  distress.  "Of  course  I  believe  nothing  so 
foolish.  Even  if  you — what  nonsense  to  speak  of 
it! — but  even  if  you  wanted  the  pearls,  you  couldn't 
hide  them.  Let  me  think!  Let  me  go  back  in  my 
mind  over  everything  that  happened.  I  was  in  the 
next  room  practically  all  the  time  when  I  wasn't 
here.  The  door  was  open  between.  I  could  have 
seen  any  one  who  came  in.  Oh,  the  pearls  can't  have 
been  stolen.  There's  been  nobody  to  steal  them." 

"What  about  our  little  friend,  Clo  Riley?"  Miss 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  THE  BOUDOIR   139 

Blackburne  asked.  "Could  she  possibly  know  any- 
thing? Mightn't  she  help  with  some  suggestion? 
I  thought  hers  one  of  the  brightest,  quickest  minds 
I  ever  met.  Indeed,  I  owe  my  life  to  its  quickness." 

Beverley  forgot  to  answer.  The  pearl-stringer's 
words  had  sent  her  thoughts  travelling  along  a  new 
path.  Suddenly  she  became  aware  that  she  had 
deceived  Miss  Blackburne  and  herself.  When  she 
made  that  statement,  she  had  not  reflected.  Clo's 
return,  in  O'Reilly's  company,  now  seemed  so  long 
ago  that  she  had  not  cast  her  mind  back  so  far  in 
connection  with  the  pearls.  She  had  thought  of  what 
she  had  done  since  O'Reilly's  refusal  of  her  request, 
and  his  departure.  She  had  pictured  herself  as  hav- 
ing seen  the  pearls  hi  their  case  since  then.  But  she 
had  not  done  so.  She  had  seen  only  the  closed  case, 
and  had  naturally  taken  it  for  granted  that  the  pearls 
were  in  it.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  had  not  actually 
seen  them  since  she  herself  closed  the  velvet  case. 
Could  Clo  possibly  have  dashed  into  the  boudoir  and 
hidden  the  pearls? 

"I'll  speak  to  Clo,"  she  finally  replied,  with  a  dazed 
look  after  a  silence  that  puzzled  Miss  Blackburne. 

"Please  stay  here.  I'll  be  back  in  three  or 
four  minutes,  and  bring  Clo  with  me,  if  she's  well 
enough." 

Clo,  denuded  of  the  stolen  cloak,  had  flung  herself 
upon  the  bed  to  rest,  and  call  back  the  force  of  her 
vitality  for  a  later  effort.  Her  nerves  were  throbbing 
like  hot  wires,  and  she  jumped  at  the  opening  of  the 
door. 


140  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

"Oh,  I'm  glad  it's  you!"  she  sighed,  at  sight  of 
Beverley.  "Have  you  opened  the  envelope?" 

"The  envelope!"  Beverley  repeated.  "OlvClo, 
I  thought  nothing  on  earth  could  have  put  it  out 
of  my  head  for  a  second.  But  Miss  Blackburne 
called  me  to  say  the  pearls  have  disappeared.  I  for- 
got the  envelope.  I  must  hurry  back.  Did  you  do 
anything  with  the  pearls,  on  your  way  out?" 

Clo  looked  aghast.  "  Good  gracious,  no ! "  she  cried. 
"I  went  through  the  kitchen,  and  down  the  ser- 
vants' elevator.  Oh,  Mrs.  Sands — Angel — you  don't 
think " 

"Nonsense!  You're  as  bad  as  Miss  Blackburne!" 
Beverley  cut  her  short.  "I  thought  that,  for  some 
reason,  you  might  have  hidden  them.  Now  I  know 
you  didn't.  Clo,  this  is  the  most  terrible  day — 
except  one — in  my  life.  I  must  find  the  pearls  or 
Roger  will  never  forgive  me.  And  only  a  few 
minutes  ago  they  were  nothing,  compared  with  the 
papers!" 

Clo's  wits,  drowned  in  horror  for  an  instant,  came 
to  the  surface  again.  "What  if  O'Reilly  took  the 
pearls  for  revenge!"  she  blurted  out.  "Did  he 
know — was  he  anywhere  near  them?" 

Beverley,  who  had  been  standing  by  the  bed,  sank 
down  upon  it,  and  stared.  "He  did  know,"  she  said 
slowly.  "And — and  he  was  alone  in  the  room  with 
the  pearls  for  some  minutes  if  I  remember  rightly. 
You  see,  Sister  Lake  arrived.  She  was  angry  about 
your  being  out.  I  tried  to  soothe  her.  It  was  no 
use.  She  left,  bag  and  baggage,  in  injured  dignity. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  THE  BOUDOIR   141 

O'Reilly  was  in  my  boudoir.  Oh,  Clo,  it  must  be  he 
who  took  the  pearls!" 

The  girl  herself  had  said  it:  yet,  when  the  words 
were  repeated  by  other  lips  than  hers,  it  gave  her  a 
shock.  O'Reilly's  face  rose  before  her  eyes.  "I 
don't  believe  he  did  it!"  she  was  surprised  to  hear 
her  own  voice  cry  out  aloud. 

"You  suggested  it  yourself!"  exclaimed  Beverley. 

"I  know,"  the  girl  confessed.  "The  idea  popped 
into  my  head.  But  it  can't  be  true.  He's  not  that 
sort,  whatever  else  he  may  be ! " 

"He  went  off  furious  with  you,  with  us  both," 
Beverley  said.  "It  must  have  been  he  who  stole  the 
pearls.  There's  a  strong  motive — something  for 
him  to  hold  over  us,  and  force  us  to  give  the  papers 
back." 

"If  we've  got  them!"  cut  in  Clo. 

Beverley  sprang  up.  "I'm  lost  in  this!"  she 
faltered.  "There  are  too  many  things  against  me. 
I  can't  cope  with  them  all  at  once.  I  must  go 
to  the  boudoir  and  get  that  envelope,  whatever 
happens." 

"What  shall  I  do?"  asked  Clo. 

Beverley  was  already  at  the  door,  and  had  opened 
it. 

"If  I  don't  come  back  to  you  in  five  minutes,  it 
will  be  a  sign  I  want  you  to  come  to  me." 

When  the  door  had  shut  behind  her  Angel,  the  girl 
felt  she  would  be  thankful  for  the  five  minutes' 
respite.  She  lay  flat  and  straight  as  a  figure  on  a 
marble  tomb,  yet  she  could  not  rest  for  thinking  of. 


142  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

O'Reilly.  His  eyes  seemed  to  be  looking  into  hers. 
By  shutting  them,  she  could  not  shut  him  out. 
When  she  thought  that  the  five  minutes  must  have 
passed,  she  slid  wearily  off  the  bed. 

"I  must  go  to  Angel,"  she  said  half  aloud.  But 
she  had  not  got  to  her  feet  when,  without  knocking, 
Beverley  flung  the  door  open. 

Instantly  Clo  guessed  that  some  new  and  worse 
misfortune  had  happened. 

"This  time  it's  the  end.  I  give  up!"  Beverley 
panted.  "The  envelope  has  gone  with  the  pearls. 
I  hadn't  even  opened  it.  I  don't  know  what  was 
inside." 

"Gone!  The  envelope  gone!"  gasped  the  girl. 
"  Gone — from — where?  " 

"From  the  table  in  the  boudoir,"  Beverley  an- 
swered. "I  laid  it  there  when  Miss  Blackburne  told 
me  about  the  pearls.  It  was  there  when  I  came  to 
you.  Miss  Blackburne  hasn't  left  the  room.  •,  She 
didn't  even  see  the  envelope.  I've  searched  every- 
where for  it — but  it's  gone." 


xvm 

DEFEAT 

ALL  Clo's  efforts  and  schemings  wasted!  She 
had  tricked,  stolen,  risked  her  life,  in  vain.  The 
envelope  was  gone. 

"You  can't  have  looked  everywhere,"  she  insisted. 
"The  thing  must  have  got  tucked  out  of  sight — 
unless  Miss  Blackburne  .  .  .  but  no,  she's  as 
good  as  gold!" 

"I'm  sure  you're  right  about  her.  She  is  good," 
said  Beverley.  "But  .  .  .  she  says  nobody 
came  into  the  room  while  she  was  there  ...  I 
asked  her.  Otherwise  I  might  have  thought  that 

Hog "  The  sentence  broke.  "I  wanted  to 

see  you  alone,"  Angel  began  again,  "so  I  came  back. 
You've  been  so  wonderful  to-day,  you've  made  me 
depend  upon  you.  If  there  were  anything  to  do, 
you'd  be  the  one  to  do  it.  But  there's  nothing  .  .  . 
is  there?  I  can't  see  any  light,  can  you?" 

"Let  me  help  you  to  look  for  the  envelope,"  said 
Clo. 

"Come,  then,"  said  the  other,  in  a  toneless  voice, 
unlike  her  own.  Together  they  went  to  Beverley's 
boudoir,  where  there  was  a  little  interlude  of  greetings 
between  Clo  and  Miss  Blackburne.  Then,  Clo  was  be- 
ginning her  search  for  the  lost  envelope  when  Roger 

143 


144  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

Sands  slowly  passed  the  half-open  door.  Beverley 
had  left  it  ajar,  not  because  she  wished  to  call  him 
(that  desire  had  fled  with  the  news  about  the  pearls), 
but  in  order  to  see  that  he  went  out.  She  stood  with 
her  back  to  the  door  at  the  moment,  but  on  the  wall 
directly  opposite  hung  a  long  mirror.  Clo  guessed, 
by  the  slight  start  Angel  gave,  that  she  must  have 
caught  sight  of  his  reflection.  He  turned  and  came 
back. 

"If  he  asks  to  see  the  pearls!"  was  the  thought  in 
Clo's  head.  Her  eyes  met  Beverley's  and  read  the 
same  terror  there. 

Roger  spoke  to  Miss  Blackburne,  pausing  on  the 
threshold. 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  baubles?"  he  asked 
with  elaborate  carelessness.  "Are  they  above  the 
average?" 

The  two  girls  held  their  breath.  Would  the  pearl- 
stringer  gave  the  situation  away? 

But  Miss  Blackburne,  true  to  herself,  was  discre- 
tion incarnate. 

"I've  not  seen  enough  of  the  pearls,  yet,  to  form 
an  opinion7'  she  replied,  "but  my  impression  is  that 
they  must  be  altogether  exceptional." 

"I'm  glad  your  impression  is  good,"  said  Roger. 
He  turned  to  his  wife.  "I  may  not  be  back  till  late. 
Do.n't  sit  up  for  me.  Good-night." 

Beverley  followed  him  into  the  hall. 

"Roger!"  she  pleaded.  "You're  doing  me  a  most 
horrible  injustice.  I  can't  bear  it!" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  asked. 


DEFEAT  145 

"You  can't  help  knowing,"  she  said,  "It's  about 
Justin  O'Reilly.  You  think  I- 

"Have  I  accused  you  of  anything?"  he  challenged, 
brows  raised,  eyes  blank. 

"No.    But " 

"Your  imagination  seems  to  be  even  more  lively 
than  your  conscience  is  sensitive,  my  dear  girl. 
What  have  you  done,  that  I  should  accuse  you?" 

"I've  done  nothing,  Roger,  that  you " 

"All  right,  then.  Why  borrow  trouble?  I  must 
hurry,  or  I'll  miss  my  appointment.  Good-night 
again.  Sleep  well!" 

Roger  left  her  without  a  backward  glance.  Bever- 
ley  felt  that  she  was  caught  in  the  folds  of  a  vast  net. 

What  was  it  Clo  had  said,  that  day?  "There  was 

once  a  mouse  who  gnawed  a  net "  Poor  mouse, 

it  had  tried  to-day  to  gnaw  the  net!  It  had  gnawed 
one  small  hole,  but  even  before  the  prisoner  could 
struggle  to  get  free,  the  hole  had  closed  again.  Still, 
the  mouse  was  ready  for  another  bout.  It  was  a 
brave,  bold  mouse — a  subtle  mouse!  For  some 
strange  reason  her  sole  hope  was  in  Clo. 

During  her  absence  the  girl  had  searched  the  bou- 
doir from  end  to  end.  Her  sharp  eyes  had  not  missed 
a  cranny  big  enough  to  hide  a  pin,  to  say  nothing 
of  a  rope  of  pearls  or  a  large  envelope  with  five 
red  seals.  Both  the  pearls  and  the  envelope  must 
have  been  stolen.  Were  there  two  thieves,  or  only 
one? 

With  Roger's  departure,  and  Beverley's  return, 
the  three  women  could  talk  with  freedom,  especially 


146  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

after  Mrs.  Sands'  announcement  to  the  butler  that  he 
would  not  be  needed  to  serve  dinner. 

Miss  Blackburne  reiterated  that  she  knew  nothing 
of  the  envelope.  She  had  had  no  thought  for  any- 
thing except  the  pearls.  Their  loss  put  her  into  an 
embarrassing  position  unless  Mrs.  Sands  intended 
informing  Mr.  Sands  and  the  police  at  once  of  what 
had  happened. 

"I  saw  by  your  face  you  didn't  want  me  to  speak 
when  your  husband  came  in,"  she  said  to  Beverley, 
"so  I  hedged,  and  did  the  best  I  could  without 
lying.  I  realized  that  you  would  want  to  be  the 
one  to  break  the  news.  But  I  suppose  you  have 
told  him  now?  He'll  send  the  police,  or  some  private 
detective,  won't  he,  to  take  evidence  while  I'm 
here?" 

"I  do  want  to  get  them  back,"  Beverley  answered. 
"But  I  haven't  told  my  husband,  and  we  can't  have 
the  police,  or  even  a  detective.  That  must  seem 
not  quite  fair  to  you,  Miss  Blackburne.  Whatever 
happens,  you  shan't  suffer,  I  promise.  I  believe  I 
know  who  has  taken  the  pearls.  If  I'm  right,  it  isn't 
exactly  a  theft.  Perhaps  if  I  go  the  right  way  about 
it,  I  can  get  them  again.  What's  the  good  of  worry- 
ing my  husband,  when  in  a  day  or  two  there  may  be 
nothing  to  worry  about?' 

"M-m-m,"  muttered  Miss  Blackburne,  "I  think 
you're  wrong,  Mrs.  Sands.  I  have  a  feeling  that 
Mr.  Sands  suspects." 

"That  the  pearls  are  gone?  How  can  he? "  Bever- 
ley cried. 


DEFEAT  147 

"I  don't  know,  I  only  feel,"  the  little  woman  re- 
peated. 

As  the  two  had  talked,  Clo  watched  Miss  Black- 
burne's  face.  It  was  with  her  as  the  pearl-stringer 
had  said  of  herself:  she  "did  not  know — she  could 
only  feel"  that  the  good  little  woman  had  something 
on  her  conscience,  something  that  she  was  obliged  to 
hide. 

Clo  had  by  this  time  succeeded  in  clearing  her  mind 
from  cobwebs. 

Suddenly  a  light  shone  like  flame  upon  the  mystery. 
"Peterson!"  was  the  name  that  printed  itself  upon 
the  girl's  brain.  "If  he  could  have  got  into  the  flat, 
he  could  have  stolen  both  the  pearls  and  papers. 
Does  Miss  Blackburne  know  something,  and  if  she 
does,  why  won't  she  tell?" 

It  occurred  to  Clo  that,  if  she  could  have  a  few 
words  with  Miss  Blackburne  alone,  perhaps  the 
puzzle  might  be  solved. 

"Angel,"  she  said,  "if  there's  been  a  thief  in  this 
house,  perhaps  he's  here  still.  With  two  manser- 
vants, you  ought " 

Beverley  waited  for  no  more.  Any  straw  was 
worth  catching  at.  She  couldn't  wait  to  ring  for 
Johnson.  She  rushed  out  of  the  boudoir,  hoping  to 
find  the  butler  in  the  dining  room.  He  was  there. 
And  while  she  explained  that  something  had  been 
stolen,  that  the  flat  must  be  searched,  Clo  got  the 
chance  she  had  wanted. 

"Miss  Blackburne,  you're  my  friend!"  she  ex- 
claimed. "This  means  life  or  death  to  me.  I'm 


148  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

responsible  for  that  envelope  we've  lost.  Do,  for 
the  love  of  heaven,  tell  me  what  happened  in  this 
room  while  Mrs.  Sands  went  out  and  left  you  here 
alone." 

The  pearl-stringer  remained  silent.  She  met  Clo's 
great,  imploring  eyes  without  shrinking,  but  the  girl 
saw  that  she  breathed  hard. 

"If  you  don't  want  me  to  die,  tell  me!"  Clo 
implored. 

"My  child,  I  would  tell  you,  if  I  could,"  she 
stiffened  herself.  "But,  you  see,"  she  finished, 
"there's  nothing  to  tell.  So,  I  can't." 


XIX 
THE  BROWN  TRUNK 

CLO  realized  that  there  was  no  more  to  be  said, 
since  to  accuse  Miss  Blackburne  of  lying  would  make 
matters  worse.  When  Beverley  came  back,  to  say 
that  the  servants  had  been  questioned,  and  the  flat 
searched  in  vain,  the  girl  had  made  up  her  mind  what 
to  do  next.  There  were  two  things,  one  of  which  had 
better  be  done  at  once;  the  second,  which  must  be 
done  before  ten  o'clock.  The  first  was  to  settle  with 
Miss  Blackburne;  and  get  rid  of  her.  The  second 
thing  was  to  keep  the  appointment  with  Peterson. 
It  was  more  important,  Clo  thought,  to  see  him  than 
to  see  O'Reilly,  though  she  expected  Angel  to  suggest 
an  immediate  talk  with  O'Reilly  in  person  or  by 
telephone.  She  hoped  to  bring  Beverley  to  her  point 
of  view. 

"Of  [course,  I  rely  on  you  to  let  me  clear  myself 
if  you  don't  find  your  pearls  the  way  you  hope," 
Miss  Blackburne  reminded  Beverley.  "I'm  sure 
you'll  let  me  know  when  you  have  news.  Mean- 
while, there's  nothing  to  stay  for,  is  there?  I  might 
as  well  be  with  mother." 

It  was  arranged  that  she  should  go  home  in  a  taxi, 
to  save  the  time  which  must  be  wasted,  waiting  for 
Beverley 's  car.  Mrs.  Sands  paid,  of  course,  and  gave 

149 


150  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

the  pearl-stringer  a  present  of  fifty  dollars,  "to  make 
up  for  her  trouble." 

It  was  not  late,  as  time  goes,  but  on  this  night  of 
stress  and  ordeal,  nine-fifteen  was  a  terrible  hour. 
The  instant  Miss  Blackburne  was  out  of  the  house, 
the  two  girls  turned  to  each  other,  and  clasped  hands. 

"Thank  God,  she's  gone!"  Beverley  breathed. 
"Now  I'll  call  up  Justin  O'Reilly,  and " 

"Wait  till  I  tell  you  something  I've  thought  of, 
then  you  can  decide,"  Clo  cut  hi.  "I  believe  that 
horrible  creature,  Peterson,  may  be  the  thief,  not 
O'Reilly.  How  he  could  have  got  into  the  flat,  and 
out  again,  I  can't  see.  But  he  probably  specializes 
in  stunts  like  that!  He  has  the  face — and  the  fin- 
gers— for  it.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  he  terrorized 
poor  Blacky.  She's  not  cut  out  for  a  heroine,  is  she? 
Maybe  the  man  was  under  the  table  in  the  boudoir. 
Maybe  he  warned  her  that,  if  she  gave  him  away 
afterward,  he'd  do  for  her  and  all  her  belongings. 
That  would  scare  Blacky  blue!  She  worships  her 
mother.  I  haven't  got  the  tangle  straightened  out  in 
my  head  yet.  But  this  new  idea  looks  good  to  me,  so 
far.  If  Peterson's  the  thief — if  he's  pocketed  the 
papers  and  the  pearls — it  seems  to  me  he'll  try  and 
make  a  quick  get-away.  Let  us  jump  on  him  now, 
at  the  Hotel  Westmorland,  before  he  expects  us,  and 
before  bothering  with  O'Reilly.  These  pearls  must  be 
well  known.  Peterson  can't  get  rid  of  them,  even  to 
a  fence,  for  any  big  sum.  I  think  he'd  exchange,  for 
money,  and  less  important  jewels  that  he  might  dare 
to  sell.  Haven't  you  got  something  that  your  hus- 


THE  BROWN  TRUNK  151 

band's  forgotten — or  won't  mind  if  he  doesn't  see 
you  wear?" 

"Yes,"  Beverley  answered.  "I  have  six  or  seven 
hundred  dollars  by  me.  There's  a  diamond  muff- 
chain,  too,  and  a  tiara  that  Roger  himself  thinks  too 
old  looking  for  me.  He  proposed  to  have  the  stones 
reset — but  that's  months  ago.  He  has  forgotten, 
I'm  sure,  for  he's  given  me  so  many  other  things 
since.  I  could  bargain  with  the  chain  and  tiara — 
and  perhaps  a  few  bracelets  and  rings." 

"Let  me  take  the  jewels  and  money  in  a  bag  to  the 
Westmorland.  I  can  leave  it  at  the  desk  while  I  do 
the  bargaining.  It's  best  to  be  on  the  safe  side,  if 
you're  a  mouse  holding  up  a  ferret!  Besides,  there's 
a  question  we've  'most  lost  sight  of  in  this  business, 
Angel.  We're  not  sure  the  right  papers  were  in  the 
envelope  I  took  from  O'Reilly.  They  migh  t  be  some- 
thing else  he  valued." 

"Why,  yes!"  cried  Eeverley.  "For  a  moment  I 
counted  on  their  being  the  right  ones — the  ones  I 
must  give  Peterson " 

"Well,  I've  only  to  see  him  to  make  sure,"  Clo 
went  on.  "He  may  lie,  but  I  know  I  can  tell  by  his 
face.  Angel,  waste  no  time  on  O'Reilly.  There's 
not  one  second  to  lose!  Get  your  jewels  together, 
and  I'll  go." 

" We'll  both  go,"  said  Beverley.  "Don't  object; 
it's  useless !  I  won't  have  you  go  alone.  You've  done 
more  than  enough  already.  I'm  a  wretch  to  let  you 
slave  for  me,  your  first  day  out  of  bed !  But  I  daren't 
call  at  Peterson's  alone,  not  because  I'm  afraid  for 


152  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

myself,  but  because  of  Roger.  Besides,  I  can  depend 
on  you  to  keep  your  head." 

"Very  well/'  Clo  consented.  "The  first  thing 
that  occurs  to  me  is  this:  we  must  put  on  plain  coats 
and  hats.  My  new  hat  I  left  at  the  Dietz:  I  had  to! 
But  you'll  lend  me  something.  And  we'll  not  'phone 
for  a  taxi.  Best  slip  away  and  not  let  the  servants 
know  we've  gone.  If  you've  a  latch-key,  we  may  go 
and  even  get  back  without  a  soul  being  the  wiser.'* 

"Come  to  my  room  and  choose  wraps  for  us  both, 
while  I  collect  the  money  and  what  jewels  I  dare 
spare,"  Beverley  said.  As  she  spoke,  she  ran  in  front 
of  Clo,  and  opened  a  safe  in  the  wall  not  unlike  the 
hiding  place  Clo  had  rifled  at  the  Dietz. 

The  girl  selected  two  automobile  coats,  one  of  gray 
silk,  the  other  of  brown,  both  intended  to  match  the 
colours  of  dresses,  but  inconspicuous  and  plain. 
There  were  toques  made  of  the  same  material,  with 
thin  veils  attached.  Clo  took  for  herself  the  brown 
coat,  which  was  shorter  than  the  gray,  and  pulled  the 
brown  toque  well  over  her  red  hair.  By  this  time 
Beverley  had  stuffed  a  roll  of  greenbacks,  a  chain  of 
platinum  set  with  brilliants,  hah*  a  dozen  sparkling 
rings  and  bracelets,  and  a  flexible  diamond  tiara,  into 
a  dark  leather  handbag.  Clo  helped  her  into  the 
long  gray  coat  which  covered  her  evening  dress;  and 
the  two  stole  out  of  the  flat  like  flitting  shadows. 
They  went  down  in  the  elevator,  but  the  hall-porter 
was  off  duty  for  the  night,  having  left  a  young  under- 
study in  charge. 

The  girls  walked  fast  to  the  nearest  taxi  stand, 


THE  BROWN  TRUNK  15S 

Clo  trying  not  to  breathe  hard  and  so  remind  Angel 
of  her  weakness.  As  the  chauffeur  slowed  down  in 
front  of  the  Westmorland,  Beverley  held  up  her  wrist 
watch  for  Clo  to  see. 

"Twenty-five  minutes  to  ten,"  Clo  assured  her 
confidently.  "I  only  hope  he  won't  have  gone  out. 

Now,  you  wait  for  me  in  the  taxi,  Angel,  while 
j »» 

"No,  you're  to  wait  for  me,"  Beverley  decided. 
"I  can  do  more  with  the  man  than  you,  because 
there  are  things  you  don't  know.  But  don't  wait 
here.  It's  too  far  away.  I  might  need  you  in  a 
hurry.  We'll  keep  the  taxi,  so  there'll  be  no  delay 
in  getting  off,  and  we'll  both  go  into  the  hotel  to- 
gether. You  came  this  afternoon,  so  you  had  better 
ask  for  Peterson.  We  can  make  up  our  minds  what 
to  do  next  when  we  get  the  answer." 

A  moment  later  a  tall  young  woman  in  a  gray 
motor  cloak,  and  a  small  young  woman  in  a  brown 
cloak,  entered  the  hotel.  The  veils  that  covered 
their  close-fitting  toques  and  fell  over  their  faces 
were  not  thick,  yet  in  the  electric  light  the  gauze  took 
on  a  disguising  glitter.  The  pair  in  their  plain, 
wraps,  were  not  conspicuous  figures  even  in  a  third- 
rate  hotel  like  the  Westmorland,  and  the  clerk  whom 
they  approached  was  not  moved  to  curiosity. 

"Mr.  Peterson?  He's  in;  came  in  over  an  hour 
ago,  and  mentioned  that  he  expected  a  caller;  party 
to  go  right  up." 

"He's  expecting  us,  one  or  both,"  Clo  cut  in 
hastily.  "  What's  his  number?  " 


154  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

"658,  top  floor,"  said  the  clerk.  "The  elevator's 
just  over  there  to  the  left — see?" 

"We'll  go  up  together,"  Clo  whispered,  "and  then, 
if  you  really  think  best  to  see  the  man  alone,  I'll  hang 
about  somewhere  in  the  hall  till  you  come  out  and 
call  me." 

Beverley  made  no  reply.  Already  she  was  fathoms 
deep  in  thought.  The  musty-smelling  lift  shot  them 
up  to  the  top  floor;  Beverley,  stepping  out  ahead  of 
Clo,  had  the  air  of  having  forgotten  her  existence. 
The  girl's  anxiety  deepened.  The  best  she  could  do 
was  to  guide  her  friend  through  dimly  lighted,  dark- 
walled  corridors,  to  the  right  number,  658.  Beverley 
had,  before  they  left  the  taxi,  given  the  money  and 
jewels  into  her  companion's  hand.  Clo's  over- 
strained nerves  began  to  take  their  revenge.  This 
shabby  hotel  was  an  evil  place.  To  her  it  seemed 
that  each  closed  door  hid  something  secret  and  sin- 
ister. They  met  no  one  between  the  elevator  and 
Peterson's  room.  Involuntarily,  the  two  paused  an 
instant  in  front  of  number  658  before  knocking.  No 
sound  came  from  within.  If  Peterson  were  in  his 
room,  apparently  he  was  alone.  Beverley  tapped 
— a  sharp,  nervous  tap. 

"Come  in!"  cried  a  voice  which  sounded  far  off, 
as  if  the  speaker  called  from  the  furthest  corner  of 
the  room,  or  from  the  depths  of  a  wall  cupboard. 

"Keep  near,  but  not  too  near,"  whispered  Bever- 
ley, and  opened  the  door.  To  her  surprise  and  Clo's 
there  was  no  light  in  the  room;  yet  it  was  not  really 
dark.  The  blind  on  the  curtamless  window  opposite 


THE  BROWN  TRUNK  155 

the  door  was  rolled  up  to  the  top,  and  let  in  light 
from  the  brilliantly  illuminated  street  six  storeys  be- 
low. As  Beverley  passed  in,  Clo  caught  a  glimpse 
of  a  man's  figure  comfortably  seated  in  a  high-backed 
armchair  in  front  of  the  window.  She  even  recog- 
nized the  mean  profile  of  Peterson,  outlined  in  black 
against  the  luminous  square  of  a  window  pane,  and 
anger  pricked  her  that  he  should  dare  receive  Mrs. 
Sands  without  rising.  Then  the  door  shut,  and  Clo, 
obeying  the  order  to  "keep  near,  but  not  too  near," 
took  a  few  steps  down  the  corridor.  Within  sight 
of  the  door,  but  not  within  hearing  of  voices  on  the 
other  side  unless  they  should  rise  to  a  shout,  she 
hovered  uneasily. 

It  was  hateful  to  Clo  that  Angel  should  be  alone 
with  the  ferret-faced  man  behind  the  closed  door. 
He  might  choke  Beverley  to  death  with  those  sly, 
thievish  hands  of  his,  and  the  sentinel  outside  would 
not  know.  "Why  was  he  sitting  there  in  the  dark," 
she  puzzled,  "like  a  spider  in  his  web,  waiting  to 
pounce  ? ' '  She  could  not  put  away  the  impression  that 
there  was  something  more  terrible  even  than  Beverley 
had  expected.  No  one  came  or  went.  After  all. 
she  had  been  there  only  four  or  five  minutes,  though 
the  time  seemed  long.  It  might  easily  be  half  an 
hour,  Clo  reminded  herself,  before  she  could  hope  to 
be  called  into  consultation,  or  invited  to  hand  over 
the  precious  bag.  She  looked  wistfully  toward  the 
nearest  end  of  the  corridor.  There,  in  front  of  a 
window,  was  a  big  brown  trunk.  She  would  go  and 
sit  on  that  trunk  to  rest.  It  was  well  within  sight 


156  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

of  Peterson's  door.  Her  eyes  would  never  leave  that 
door!  With  renewed  life  she  could  spring  up  as  she 
saw  it  opened  by  Angel. 

"Yes,  I've  got  to  the  limit!"  the  girl  said.  She 
was  so  spent  that  her  feet  seemed  to  have  weights 
attached  to  them  as  she  dragged  herself  toward  the 
trunk.  Reaching  it,  she  dropped,  rather  than  sat, 
upon  the  rounded  top.  No  sooner  had  she  touched 
the  lid,  however,  than  she  bounded  up  as  if  she  had 
received  an  electric  shock.  It  seemed  that  some- 
thing inside  the  trunk  had  given  a  leap,  and  that  the 
great  box  had  quivered  under  her.  At  the  same 
instant  the  door  of  number  658  was  thrown  open. 
Beverley  came  out. 


XX 

MURDER 

THERE  was  something  not  natural  in  Beverley's 
air  and  manner.  Normally  she  had  a  proud,  erect 
carriage.  Now  she  came  stumbling  out  of  Number 
658,  and  with  drooping  head,  and  shoulders  bent, 
crept  into  the  hall,  leaving  the  door  half  open  behind 
her;  but  she  stopped  abruptly  and  turned  back.  Clo, 
forgetting  her  own  weakness,  and  forgetting  the 
brown  trunk,  hurried  to  join  her  friend.  But 
Beverley  seemed  to  be  unconscious  of  the  girl's  pres- 
ence. She  stood  as  far  as  possible  from  the  door, 
closed  it  without  noise,  and  was  walking  away  again 
when  Clo's  arm  slid  round  her  waist. 

"Darling,  what  has  he  said,  what  has  he  done  to 
you?"  the  girl  implored. 

Beverley  seized  Clo  by  the  wrist,  and  pulled  her 
toward  the  lift. 

"Hurry!"  she  whispered.  "We  must  get  away  as 
soon  as  we  can,  for  Roger's  sake!" 

"But  what  about  the  papers,  and  the  pearls?" 
Clo  persisted.  "Had  Peterson  taken  them?  Did 
he  give  them  to  you?" 

"I  don't  know  whether  he  had  them  or  not. 
Nothing  matters  now,  except  to  get  home,"  was  the 
astounding  answer.  Clo  could  hardly  believe  that 

157 


158  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

she  had  heard  aright.  Ten — five  minutes  ago, 
nothing  in  the  world  mattered,  except  the  papers 
and  the  pearls.  Now  they  had  lost  all  their  import- 
ance! 

"You  don't  want  them  any  more?  "  she  gasped. 

"Want  them?"  Beverley  echoed.  "Yes,  more 
than  ever,  I  want  them.  But  it's  too  late.  Don't 
ask  me  why.  Only — come!" 

Clo  could  not  argue  with  Angel,  or  oppose  her, 
in  such  a  mood  as  this.  She  wished  that  she  had 
taken  her  own  way,  and  gone  herself  to  "have  it  out" 
with  Peterson.  She  felt  that  nothing  he  could  have 
said  or  done  would  have  forced  her  to  give  up  without 
at  least  knowing  whether  or  not  the  booty  were  in  his 
possession.  As  she  kept  pace  with  Beverley  she  was 
screwing  up  her  courage  to  one  last,  desperate  coup. 
She  would  make  it  in  spite  of  Angel ! 

They  came  to  the  elevator,  but  before  Clo  could 
put  out  her  hand  to  touch  the  electric  button,  Bever- 
ley drew  her  farther  on,  to  the  staircase.  They 
went  down  swiftly  and  in  silence.  The  entrance 
hall  of  the  hotel  smelt  of  tobacco.  They  descended 
into  it  behind  the  elevator.  A  group  of  men  sur- 
rounded the  desk  where  they  had  inquired  for  Peter- 
son, and  the  two  girls  in  motor  coats  and  veiled 
toques  passed  without  catching  sight  of  the  clerk 
who  had  sent  them  to  658.  Three  or  four  men  of 
the  commercial  traveller  type  glanced  at  the  gray 
and  brown  figures;  but  the  elevator  had  at  that  mo- 
ment released  a  golden-haired,  black-eyed  young 
woman  in  a  pink  evening  dress.  She  became  at  once 


MURDER  159 

an  object  of  interest,  and  the  plainly-cloaked  pair 
vanished  unnoticed. 

The  taxi,  which  had  been  ordered  to  wait,  was  at  a 
distance.  They  hurried  to  it.  It  was  Clo  who 
opened  the  door  of  the  cab,  and  almost  pushed  Angel 
in! 

"Shall  I  tell  him  to  go  to  the  corner  where  he 
picked  us  up?'*  she  asked.  Beverley  nodded,  and 
sank  back  against  the  shabby  leather  cushions.  This 
was  Clo's  moment.  She  had  led  up  to  it,  and  decided 
what  to  do.  First  she  placed  the  bag  of  jewels  in 
Beverley 's  lap.  Next  she  spoke  to  the  chauffeur, 
giving  clear  directions.  Then  she  slammed  the  door 
shut,  and  stepped  back  upon  the  sidewalk,  motion- 
ing to  the  man  to  start. 

"Angel  will  be  so  surprised,  she  won't  know  what 
to  do  for  a  minute,"  the  girl  thought.  "By  the  time 
she  pulls  herself  together  she'll  realize  it's  too  late 
to  stop  me." 

As  fast  as  she  dared,  Clo  retraced  her  steps  to  the 
hotel.  She  hated  to  leave  Beverley  alone,  but  be- 
tween two  evils  it  seemed  that  she  had  chosen  the 
less.  When  the  taxi  stopped  Beverly  would  get  out; 
and  then  she  would  have  a  few  blocks  to  walk  before 
reaching  home.  As  for  the  bag,  she  could  hardly 
forget  it  in  the  cab.  The  thing  was  too  heavy  to  fall 
from  her  lap  without  being  noticed.  She  would  have 
the  jewels  safe,  while  Clo  tried  to  bargain  with  ferret- 
face  on  promises  of  reward. 

By  the  time  she  had  argued  away  her  worst  tremors, 
Clo  had  again  entered  the  Hotel  Westmorland. 


160  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

She  had  decided  to  say  that  her  friend  had  forgotten 
something  if  a  question  were  asked;  but  the  desk  was 
still  surrounded  with  its  group  of  talkative  men,  and 
she  walked  to  the  stairs  at  the  back  of  the  hall  as  if 
she  were  a  guest  of  the  hotel.  Thence  she  toiled  to 
the  top. 

It  was  only  when  she  approached  the  door  of 
Number  658,  and  saw  once  more  the  brown  trunk 
at  the  end  of  the  hall,  that  Clo  remembered  the  odd 
side-issue  of  her  adventure.  She  hesitated  between 
the  need  for  haste  and  the  wish  to  solve  the  mystery 
that  troubled  her.  But  it  would  take  only  a  minute 
to  run  to  the  trunk,  to  sit  on  it  again,  and  see  what 
happened!  Meanwhile,  any  one  who  went  in,  or 
came  out  from,  Number  658,  must  do  so  under  her 
eyes. 

Curiosity  conquered.  Clo  tip-toed  to  the  trunk, 
sat  heavily  down  on  the  rounded  top,  as  she  had  done 
before,  and  nothing  happened.  There  was  no  sign 
of  movement  within;  and  Clo  wondered  if,  after  all, 
the  thing  that  had  jumped  under  the  lid  had  been 
created  by  her  own  jumping  nerves.  Suddenly  the 
impulse  came  upon  her  to  try  and  open  it.  She 
seized  the  corner  of  the  rounded  lid,  but  it  remained 
immovable.  She  picked  at  the  metal  hasp  which 
covered  the  cheap  lock.  It  did  not  yield,  but  her 
fingers — or  she  fancied  it — touched  moisture.  The 
girl  shrank  back  and  looked  at  her  hand.  Thumb 
and  forefinger  were  smeared  with  blood. 

The  girl  felt  sick,  and  might  have  fainted  comfor- 
tably. "Pooh!"  she  scolded  herself.  "You've  cut 


MURDER  161 

your  finger.  Serve  you  right  for  not  minding  your 
own  business.  Go  to  it  now,  and  no  nonsense,  if 
you  please!" 

Goading  herself  to  courage  she  marched  to  the 
door  of  658  and  knocked.  No  answer  came,  and  the 
girl's  heart  sank.  It  seemed  too  bad  to  be  true  that 
Peterson  should  have  escaped  during  the  few  minutes 
spent  in  putting  Angel  into  a  taxi.  Besides,  she  had 
scarcely  gone  beyond  eye-shot  of  the  hotel  entrance. 

"Perhaps  he's  asleep,"  thought  Clo.  She  turned 
the  handle,  and  to  her  surprise  the  door  yielded.  She 
had  expected  to  find  it  locked.  As  before,  the  room 
was  unlit  save  by  golden  reflections  from  the  street 
below.  The  girl  opened  the  door  wide,  and  delib- 
erately looked  in.  Strange;  there  sat  the  man  in 
his  easy  chair  in  front  of  the  window,  with  his  mean 
profile  outlined  against  the  light,  just  as  he  had  sat 
when  Beverley  had  answered  the  summons  to  "Come 
in ! "  One  would  say,  to  look  at  him,  that  he  had  not 
moved  an  inch. 

Clo's  theory  had  gone  wrong.  She  had  urged  her 
conviction  upon  Angel  that  he  was  the  thief;  that, 
if  he  were  the  thief,  he  would  "make  his  get-away" 
in  haste.  Yet  here  he  sat,  in  the  dark,  asleep. 

She  stepped  across  the  threshold,  felt  along  the  wall 
for  an  electric  switch,  found  it,  and  flooded  the  room 
with  light.  Still  the  figure  in  the  chair  did  not  stir. 

Clo  glanced  round  the  squalid  room.  Peterson 
had  begun  to  pack.  A  suit-case  lay  open  on  the 
narrow  bed.  The  wrinkled  gray-white  counterpane 
was  half  covered  with  scattered  clothing. 


162  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

"If  he's  fast  enough  asleep,  I  can  go  through  every- 
thing," she  thought,  "including  his  pockets!" 

The  girl  walked  in,  and  closed  the  door  resolutely 
but  softly,  her  eyes  always  upon  the  figure  in  the 
chair.  She  mustn't  begin  to  search  the  place  without 
making  sure  that  Peterson  was  not  playing  "pos- 
sum." It  would  be  awful,  when  her  back  was  turned, 
to  have  him  pounce  upon  her  like  a  monkey.  She 
tiptoed  across  the  room,  and  stopped  in  front  of  the 
easy-chair,  within  a  yard  of  the  stretched-out  feet, 
where  she  could  take  a  good  look  at  the  sleeper.  His 
head  was  bent  down  over  his  breast,  and  the  girl  had 
to  stoop  a  little  to  peer  into  the  face.  But  a  glance 
seht  her  reeling  back  against  a  chest  of  drawers. 
The  top  of  the  man's  head  had  been  crushed  in  by 
some  blunt  instrument.  His  forehead  and  the  side 
of  his  face  turned  toward  the  window  were  covered 
with  blood.  His  shirt  and  coat  were  soaked  with  it, 
in  a  long  red  stripe,  and  a  dark  pool  had  formed  in  a 
vague  heart-shape  on  the  patterned  carpet. 

Clo  had  never  before  seen  a  dead  man,  yet  she  did 
not  doubt  that  this  man  was  dead.  He  could  have 
been  dead  for  a  short  time  only.  The  blood  on  the 
livid  face  glistened  wet  in  the  electric  light.  It  had 
hardly  ceased  to  drip  from  the  wound  in  his  head. 

For  a  time  Clo  stood  still,  as  if  frozen.  But  slowly 
the  power  to  think  came  back.  To  her  own  horror 
and  disgust  she  found  herself  wondering  if  Beverley 
Sands  had  killed  Peterson.  It  would  have  been  a 
tremendous  blow  for  a  woman  to  strike,  but  Beverley 
was  desperate,  and  she  was  strong.  She  had  boasted 


MURDER  1S3 

of  her  strength  of  arm  only  the  other  day,  to  Sister 
Lake,  who  had  tested  and  admired  the  splendid 
firmness  of  her  young  muscles.  Besides,  the  man 
had  been  caught  unawares,  and  had  been  struck 
from  behind;  the  position  of  the  wound  showed  that. 
On  a  small  table  by  the  chair  lay  the  weapon.  It 
was  a  long  pistol,  Clo  did  not  know  of  what  kind  or 
make,  but  it  looked  old-fashioned;  and  there  was  no 
question  as  to  the  way  in  which  it  had  been  used. 
Someone  had  taken  it  by  the  muzzle  and  struck  with 
the  butt  end,  which  was  coated  with  blood  and  hairs. 
Perhaps  the  pistol  had  not  been  loaded,  or  perhaps 
the  murderer — (no,  "avenger"  was  the  better  word, 
with  that  fear  knocking  at  her  heart!)  had  not  dared 
fire  because  of  the  noise. 

Clo's  mind  began  to  work  more  quickly.  She 
pieced  details  together.  The  person  who  had  killed 
Peterson  could  not  have  picked  up  the  pistol  from 
that  table  without  being  seen  by  him,  therefore  it 
had  been  lying  there  before  the  murder.  Most  likely 
it  had  lain  on  the  bed,  among  the  strewn  things  which 
ferret-face  had  begun  to  pack.  In  that  case  any  one 
entering  the  room  might  have  spied  and  snatched 
it,  unsuspected  by  the  man  in  the  chair. 

"If  my  poor,  tortured  Angel  didn't  do  this,  I  can 
bear  anything!"  Clo  told  herself.  "It  wouldn't 
so  much  matter  for  me.  I'd  have  killed  him  for  her 
sake — I  believe.  But  for  her  it  would  be  horrible!" 

The  girl  remembered  the  blood  on  her  fingers, 
which  she  had  found  after  touching  the  lock  of  the 
brown  trunk,  and  this  remembrance  gave  her  hope. 


164  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

The  murderer  must  have  passed  that  way,  whereas 
Beverley  had  not  been  near  the  trunk.  "Thank 
goodness  for  one  good  bit  of  evidence  in  case  it's 
ever  needed!"  Clo  thought.  "Who  knows  but 
the  murderer  was  hiding  in  the  trunk,  and  jumped 
in  his  fright  when  I  plumped  down  on  it?  Well, 
if  he  did,  he  must  either  be  smothered  by  now,  since 
the  trunk's  been  locked  since  then,  or  else  he's 
escaped.  Oh,  Angel,  how  could  I  dream  for  a  min- 
ute it  might  have  been  you?  And  yet  if  this  wretch 
was  dead  then,  who  called  "Come  in?" 

A  wild  impulse  to  run  away  seized  the  girl.  She 
started  toward  the  door,  but  stopped  half  way. 
No,  she  would  not  fail  Angel.  The  man  was  dead. 
He  could  do  her  no  harm.  If  Beverley 's  pearls, 
or  if  Beverley's  papers,  were  in  this  room,  no  matter 
where,  even  if  she  had  to  touch  that  blood-stained 
coat  to  search  the  pockets,  she  would  not  go  without 
them. 

The  dark  blind  ought  to  be  pulled  dowa,  because 
from  some  high  window  she  might  be  seen  and  identi- 
fied afterward,  if  trouble  came  of  this  night's  work. 
To  reach  the  blind  she  had  to  step  over  the  feet  which 
sprawled  beyond  the  chair;  and  stretching  up  her 
arm  to  touch  the  broken  cord,  she  was  conscious 
that  her  dress  brushed  the  dead  man's  knees. 

Next  she  went  to  the  bed,  and  began  turning  over 
Peterson's  miserable  belongings.  She  prayed  that, 
by  a  miracle,  she  might  come  across  the  sealed  enve- 
lope. As  for  the  pearls,  if  the  murderer  were  of 
the  Peterson  type,  to  steal  them  would  have  been 


MURDER  165 

his  first  thought.  But — it  would  need  a  stout- 
hearted criminal  to  go  through  the  pockets  of  his 
victim,  and  if  the  motive  were  other  than  theft, 
it  might  be  that  the  pearls  and  papers  were  still  on 
the  body.  If  Clo  failed  to  find  them  elsewhere  she 
would  have  to  ransack  those  pockets.  The  thought 
was  too  horrible  to  dwell  upon.  Frantically  she 
tossed  over  the  contents  of  the  suit-case,  lifting  and 
shaking  every  garment  scattered  on  the  bed.  She 
peered  under  the  pillows;  she  pulled  out  the  drawers 
of  wash-stand  and  dressing-table;  but  there  was  noth- 
ing to  be  found  there,  not  even  a  letter,  not  a  torn 
morsel  of  paper  which  could  serve  Beverley's 
cause.  Clo's  spirit  groaned  a  prayer  for  strength 
when  at  last — sick  and  shaking,  her  palms  damp) — 
she  had  to  set  about  the  pillage  of  the  dead  man's 
pockets.  Some  she  needed  merely  to  touch  with  her 
finger  ends,  to  make  sure  that  they  were  empty. 
Others  had  to  be  searched  to  their  depths:  and  the 
girl  felt  convinced  that  she  would  die  if  in  the  horrid 
business  she  plunged  a  hand  into  some  unseen  sop  of 
blood. 

From  a  waistcoat  pocket  she  pulled  out  a  small 
leather  cigarette  case,  still  warm  from  the  wearer's 
breast — another  proof,  if  she  had  let  herself  think  of 
it,  that  he  had  not  long  been  dead.  In  the  leather 
case,  behind  a  store  of  tightly  packed  cigarettes, 
was  a  card — the  cheapest  sort  of  visiting  card,  on 
which,  scrawled  in  pencil,  was  the  name  Lorenz 
Czerny.  On  the  back  of  this  card,  in  a  different 
handwriting,  but  also  in  pencil,  a  memorandum  had 


166  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

been  scribbled.  A  glance  showed  Clo  that  it  con- 
sisted of  names,  abbreviated  addresses,  and  the 
hours  of  appointments,  or  perhaps  of  trains.  She 
did  not  stop  to  examine  the  card  thoroughly,  but 
slipped  it  into  her  pocket  for  future  reference,  and 
went  on  with  her  task. 

The  sealed  envelope  she  sought  was  too  large 
not  to  protrude  over  the  top  of  any  pocket  of  a  man's 
indoor  coat;  but  Clo  reflected  that  the  envelope 
might  have  been  destroyed,  and  the  contents  dis- 
tributed, or  folded  into  smaller  compass.  With  this 
idea  she  spared  herself  nothing  in  her  quest;  but  the 
sole  reward  she  had  (save  for  the  cigarette  case) 
was  the  finding  of  a  paragraph  cut  from  a  newspaper, 
a  roll  of  bloodstained  greenbacks,  which  she  hastily 
replaced,  and  a  torn  silk  handkerchief.  The  news- 
paper cutting  told  of  Roger  Sands'  magnificent 
house  in  Newport,  whither  he  and  his  "beautiful 
young  bride"  would  shortly  move.  This  also  Clo 
annexed,  in  order  that  no  connection  should  seem  to 
exist  between  Beverley  Sands  and  the  man  Peterson 
when  the  police  got  to  work.  The  handkerchief 
she  took  from  the  coat  pocket  into  which  it  had  been 
untidily  stuffed,  in  order  to  search  underneath.  But 
the  nervous  jerk  she  gave  pulled  out  something  else 
also — something  small,  which  fell  to  the  floor  with  a 
tinkle  as  of  a  tiny  stone  striking  wood,  when  it  touched 
a  chair  leg,  and  rolled  under  the  chest  of  drawers. 
Clo  had  not  time  to  see  what  the  thing  was.  There 
was  only  a  flashing  glimpse  of  a  pebble-like  object 
as  it  disappeared.  But  her  heart  leaped  at  the 


MURDER  167 

thought  of  what  it  might  be.  Thrusting  the  ragged 
handkerchief  into  a  pocket  already  examined,  she 
had  just  stooped  to  peer  under  the  clumsy  piece  of 
furniture  when  a  telephone  bell  began  to  ring. 

The  girl  sprang  to  her  feet,  quivering  and  alert. 
It  seemed  that  the  bell  had  rung  almost  in  her  ear. 
Someone  was  calling  for  Peterson! 


XXI 

"KIT!" 

SOMEHOW  Clo  got  to  the  telephone,  which  was 
placed  on  the  wall  by  the  door,  and  her  hand  tremb- 
led on  the  receiver  before  she  realized  that  the  bell 
which  rang  was  in  the  adjoining  room.  There  was  no 
communicating  door  between,  but  the  wall  must  be 
almost  as  thin  as  cardboard,  for  the  noise  seemed  to 
smite  her  ear-drum.  For  an  instant  Clo's  relief 
was  overwhelming;  but  as  the  shrill  noise  struck  her 
nerves  blow  after  blow,  they  rebelled.  Her  brain 
refused  to  work  until,  suddenly,  blessed  silence 
fell. 

Once  more  she  had  a  sense  of  being  saved.  The 
power  of  recollection  came  back.  She  knew  that 
she  had  been  going  to  look  for  the  thing  which  had 
dropped  out  of  Peterson's  handkerchief,  and  rolled 
out  of  sight.  She  went  down  on  her  knees  for  the 
second  time,  but  only  to  spring  up,  and  stand  quiver- 
ing like  a  creature  at  bay.  Again  the  telephone 
bell  was  ringing,  and  now  the  sound  was  in  the  room. 
The  call  was  for  658.  She  answered  at  once. 

"Hello!"  she  saluted  the  unknown. 

"Hello!"  came  the  response,  in  a  man's  voice. 
"This  is  Chuff  calling.  Are  you  Peterson?" 

"Peterson  is  in  the  room,"  returned  Clo,  after  an 

168 


"KIT"  169 

instant's  pause,  in  which  her  heart  missed  a  beat. 
"But  he  can't  come  to  the  'phone." 

"Oh,  say,  is  that  you,  Kit?"  the  man  wanted  to 
know. 

Clo  was  almost  incapable  of  thinking;  but  she 
was  vaguely  aware  that  the  accent  was  slightly 
foreign.  "Yes,"  she  ventured  "It's  Kit." 

"Nice  thing  you  are!  I've  been  trying  to  get 
you  the  last  ten  minutes.  Thought  your  room  was 
next  door  to  his.  Couldn't  you  hear  your  own 
'phone  from  Petes'?" 

"I've  just  come  in,"  said  Clo. 

"You're  late.  Anything  wrong?  Your  voice 
sounds  sort  of  queer." 

"I've  got  chewing  gum  in  my  mouth,"  said  Clo 
"What  do  you  want  to  say  to  Pete?" 

"I  want  to  know  if  he's  got  the  papers." 

Clo's  blood  rushed  to  her  head.  This  looked  like 
a  wonderful  chance  to  tap  a  secret,  if  she  didn't 
lose  it  by  giving  the  wrong  answers.  Beverley 
Sands'  whole  future  might  depend  upon  the  next  few 
minutes. 

"Hold  the  line  a  second  or  two,"  she  said.  She 
needed  to  think. 

If  she  replied  that  Peterson  had  the  papers,  em- 
barrassing questions  might  be  asked.  If  she  said  that 
he  hadn't,  the  man  at  the  telephone  might  end  the 
conversation  before  she  had  learned  enough  to  help 
Angel.  "I'll  try  hedging,"  she  decided,  and  began 
again  with  a  tentative  "Hello!"  For  an  instant 
there  was  no  response,  and  Clo  was  sick  with  fear 


170  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

lest  she  had  been  cut  off.  But  luck  was  with  her. 
The  foreign-sounding  voice  began  again:  "Well,  is 
Pete  there  this  time?' 

"No,"  said  the  girl.  "Pete  is — packing.  He 
wants  me  to  say  it  isn't  much  after  ten.  He's 
expecting  to  get  the  papers  any  minute  now." 

"He  'phoned  me  he'd  made  ten  the  time  limit. 
Didn't  he  tell  Olga  that  Stephen  would  sure  be 
done  for  if  she  didn't  hand  over  the  real  docs  by 
ten  o'clock  sharp?" 

"Olga!"  .  .  .  "Stephen!"  .  .  CIo  felt 
that  she  was  hearing  things  she  had  no  right  to  know. 

"The  lady's  had  her  hands  full  all  the  afternoon 
and  evening,"  she  answered  carefully.  "I  suppose 
you  know  what's  been  going  on?" 

"Don't  know  a  damned  thing  since  Pete  'phoned 
some  little  skirt  had  brought  around  the  wrong 
papers  to  the  hotel.  Tell  him  to  quit  his  packing 
and  show  up  at  the  'phone." 

"He's  gone  out  this  very  instant,"  said  Clo. 
"A  boy  has  come  to  the  door  to  say  there  was  some- 
one to  see  him  downstairs.  Maybe  it's  the  right 
one.  He  won't  be  long  anyhow.  But  I'm  just  as 
glad  to  have  a  chance  for  a  word  with  you  while  he's 
out  of  the  way.  Seems  sort  of  funny  he  didn't  put 
you  wise  about  the  excitement,  you  know  where." 

"You  mean  Park  Avenue?" 

"Yes.  I  can't  talk  in  the  'phone  the  way  I 
would  if  the  wall  was  thicker.  Didn't  Pete  tell  you 
about  the  present  of  pearls  the  lady  got  from  her 
husband?" 


"KIT"  171 

"What  pearls?" 

"I  can't  give  you  their  whole  history,  but  maybe 
Pete  could,  if  he  wanted  to." 

"What  makes  you  think  so?  Have  you  got  on 
to  some  frame  up,  or  are  you  kidding?" 

"Well.  Somebody  relieved  the  lady  of  them. 
That's  what's  made  her  busy  the  rest  of  the  time. 
Might  account  for  documents  being  late." 

"Say,  what  are  you  giving  me?  Has  Pete  made  a 
deal  on  his  own?  .  .  .  Pearls  instead  of  papers?" 

"Hold  the  line  again  for  a  jiffy,  and  I'll  go  through 
his  togs." 

"All  right.     Look  sharp." 

Clo  let  the  receiver  hang  loose,  and  for  the  third 
time  went  down  on  her  knees  before  the  chest  of 
drawers.  Thrusting  her  arm  underneath,  she  passed 
her  hand  over  the  dirty  carpet.  Lodged  against  the 
wall  at  the  back,  and  in  a  corner,  was  something 
round  and  hard,  a  thing  which  seemed  to  be  about 
the  size  of  a  small  filbert.  The  girl  brought  it  out 
between  thumb  and  finger,  freed  it  of  dust,  and  saw 
an  immense  pearl. 

"That  settles  that! "  she  said  to  herself.  Peterson 
was  the  thief.  But  had  he  stolen  the  envelope  as 
well  as  the  pearls?  Oh,  if  she  could  only  galvanize 
the  dead  to  speak!  But  the  next  best  thing  was  to 
speak  to  the  telephone.  The  truth  might  come 
from  that  direction,  bit  by  bit,  piecing  the  different 
parts  of  the  story  together. 

Clo,  getting  to  her  feet  again,  was  struck  with  a 
sudden  luminous  idea. 


172  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

"Kit,"  the  woman  she  was  personating,  the  woman 
apparently  set  to  watch  Peterson,  had  found  out 
about  the  pearls.  Either  she  had  believed  him  a 
traitor  to  the  "gang,"  or  she  had  wanted  the  pearls 
for  herself.  In  either  case  she  had  killed  him  to  get 
them;  and  one  pearl  had  escaped  to  tell  the  tale  of 
its  fellows. 

Yes,  "Kit"  had  the  pearls.  But  where  were  they, 
and  where  was  she?  The  woman  was  not  in  her 
room,  because  the  telephone  bell  had  been  ringing 
there  and  she  hadn't  answered.  What  if  she  hadn't 
been  able  to  get  back  to  her  room  after  the  murder? 
Kit  might  have  locked  her  door  when  she  came  to 
have  a  chat  with  Peterson.  It  was  likely  enough 
there'd  be  things  in  her  quarters  which  she  wouldn't 
want  a  prying  chambermaid  to  see!  Perhaps  she'd 
seen  Peterson  looking  at  the  pearls.  Perhaps,  when 
she  knocked,  he  had  thrust  the  broken  rope  back 
into  his  pocket  with  the  loose  pearls.  Perhaps  Kit 
had  put  him  off  his  guard,  chatting  of  other  things, 
while  he  packed.  But  no,  she  had  caught  him  un- 
awares when  he  sat  as  he  was  sitting  now!  Clo 
pictured  her  offering  to  help  him  pack.  He  had 
lolled  comfortably  while  Kit  worked.  Then,  she 
had  come  behind  him  and  dealt  that  frightful  blow 
with  the  butt  of  his  own  pistol.  A  strong,  deter- 
mined woman,  Kit! 

Clo  remembered  how  she  and  Beverley  had  walked 
slowly  from  the  corridor  of  the  lift  into  Peterson's 
corridor,  looking  at  the  numbers  over  the  doors;  and 
remembered  how  she  had  said  to  Angel,  "This 


"KIT"  173 

must  be  the  right  way  to  turn."  Even  after  that, 
they  had  paused  a  moment  for  Beverley  to  gather 
up  her  failing  courage;  and  if  Kit  had  then  been  in 
the  act  of  opening  the  trunk,  she  could  easily  have 
hidden  herself  :'nside  before  the  owners  of  the  voices 
she  heard  had  turned  the  corner.  It  must  have 
given  her  a  beautiful  fright  when  someone  sat  down 
on  the  trunk  with  a  thud!  No  wonder  she  had 
jumped,  and  made  the  big  box  shake! 

Kit's  actions  later  could  be  plausibly  accounted 
for,  too.  She  must  have  guessed  that  one  of  the 
w.  men  she  had  heard  speaking  (had  seen,  perhaps, 
if  she  contrived  to  peep  from  the  trunk  when  their 
backs  were  turned)  had  been  in  Peterson's  room.' 
How  she  must  have  wished  that  she'd  taken  time  to 
lock  his  door  on  the  outside!  As  it  was,  she  couldn't 
have  been  sure  that  an  alarm  would  not  be  given 
downstairs.  Her  one  thought  must  have  been  haste; 
and  Clo  doubted  that,  if  she  had  forgotten  her  key 
in  Peterson's  room,  she  would  have  ventured  back  to 
get  it.  No,  she  would  have  crept  out  of  the  trunk, 
and  looked  at  her  dress  in  the  dim  light  to  see 
whether  blood  stains  showed.  If  she  wore  dark 
clothing,  she  might  have  run  the  risk.  Clo  pictured 
her  locking  the  trunk,  and  following,  as  closely  as 
she  dared,  the  cloaked  figures  in  gray  and  brown; 
pictured  her  pausing  in  the  background  to  see  whether 
the  pair  stopped  at  the  desk,  or  went  away  with  their 
secret;  pictured  her  relief  when  they  passed  on  in 
silence;  and  the  bid  for  freedom  she  must  have  made 
a  minute  later. 


174  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

"I  bet,  by  the  time  we  were  in  our  taxi,  that 
woman  was  out  of  this,  and  legging  it  as  fast  as  she 
could  go.  She  wouldn't  have  taken  a  cab,  for  fear 
of  being  traced,"  Clo  finished  her  reflections.  She 
stared  at  the  pearl  in  her  hand. 

"Awkward  for  me  if  Kit  gets  to  the  man  at  the 
other  end  while  her  double  chats  to  him  at  the  West- 
morland!" the  girl  thought,  and  flew  back  to  the 
telephone.  "Are  you  there?"  she  called. 

"You  bet  your  sweet  life  I'm  here.  Did  you  find 
the  beans?" 

"I've  found  something  I  must  bring  to  you. 
Where's  the  safest  place?" 

"What's  the  matter  with  here?" 

"It  won't  do,"  she  answered.  "It's  on  account 
of  Pete!" 

"Well,  then,  come  to  Churn's.  When'll  you  be 
there?" 

This  was  a  blow.  Clo  was  angling  for  an  address, 
with  street  and  number.  But  she  would  not  be 
downed  by  one  disappointment.  "Same  reason 
holds  good  for  Churn's,"  she  said.  "  Can't  you  think 
of  some  place  Pete  doesn't  know?  And  think  quick, 
or  he'll  be  back." 

"Think  quick  yourself!  We'll  go  round  to  your 
own  house,  you  dub!  Pete  ain't  sure  where  your 
real  pitch  is — unless  you've  blabbed." 

"I  may  have  dropped  something  that's  put  him 
wise,"  the  girl  persisted  in  desperation.  "I  tell 
you  I'm  not  talking  to  hear  myself  talk  when  I 
ask  for  a  new  place." 


"KIT"  175 

"Krantz's  Keller,  then,  eleven  thirty." 

"Right  for  Krantz's  Keller.  But  I  can't  be  sure 
of  eleven  thirty.  I'll  have  to  keep  an  eye  on  Pete 
till  I  know  what  he's  up  to.  Maybe  I  can  'phone 
you  there.  What's  Krantz's  number?" 

"Can't  give  it  to  you  without  looking  it  up. 
Haven't  you  got  the  book  there?" 

"No.     Somebody  must  have  nicked  it." 

"Ain't  there  one  in  your  own  room  next  door?" 

"Yes.  But  say — a  fool  thing's  happened.  I 
locked  my  door  when  I  came  in  to  Pete's,  and  I've 
dropped  my  key." 

"Find  it,  and  go  look  at  the  book.  Jake's  got 
mine.  I'll  call  you  up  in  your  room  in  five  minutes. 
Then  if  Pete's  back  it  won't  matter.  See?" 

"Yes.    But Have  you  gone?" 

There  was  no  answer.  Clo  could  do  nothing 
save  hang  up  the  receiver,  and  begin  to  search  for  a 
key  which,  despite  her  elaborate  deductions,  might 
be  in  "Kit's"  pocket  for  all  she  knew.  Luck  was 
with  her  once  more,  however.  On  the  floor  by  the 
mantelpiece  lay  a  key,  almost  hidden  in  the  deep 
fur  of  a  mangy,  goat-hair  rug.  Clo  might  have 
wasted  twice  the  time  in  her  search,  had  she  not 
stepped  on  it. 

"I'll  make  the  best  of  a  bad  bargain,"  she  prom- 
ised herself.  "If  I  must  go  to  Kit's  room,  I  won't 
throw  away  a  single  second." 

She  fastened  Peterson's  door  on  the  outside,  and 
fitted  the  key  she  had  found,  into  the  lock  of  the  door 
at  the  left,  in  front  of  which  stood  the  brown  trunk. 


176  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

The  key  served,  as  she  had  felt  certain  it  would. 
Hastily  she  locked  herself  into  the  room,  and  switched 
on  the  light.  It  was  a  mean  little  room,  a  fac- 
simile of  Peterson's  in  most  of  its  features,  but  a 
woman's  clothing  hung  from  hooks  on  the  door, 
and  on  the  bed  and  chairs  and  dressing  table  a 
woman's  belongings  were  flung  untidily  about;  hats, 
gloves,  collars,  and  a  handbag  of  jet  and  steel  beads. 
Kit  must  have  hated  to  leave  that  bag,  thought  Clo. 
She  drew  the  ribbons,  and  took  a  hasty  peep  at 
the  bag's  contents.  There  was  a  soiled  suede  purse, 
and  in  that  purse,  mixed  up  with  a  few  greenbacks, 
there  were  some  papers.  Clo  dared  not  stop  to 
examine  them.  She  could  only  hope  that  they 
might  give  clues  which  she  had  failed  to  obtain 
from  the  telephone. 

There  were  four  or  five  frocks  hanging  on  the  door, 
showy  blouses  and  bright-coloured  skirts;  but  Clo 
searched  in  vain  for  pockets.  In  the  chest  of  drawers, 
which  was  the  twin  of  Peterson's,  was  a  certain 
amount  of  underclothing,  much  trimmed  with 
cheap  lace.  There  were  silk  petticoats  with  torn 
frilling,  and  shoes  and  slippers.  But  nothing  was 
marked  with  name,  or  even  initials.  Kit,  though 
gaudily  coquettish  in  her  taste,  was  apparently 
careless  in  her  habits.  Clo  no  longer  visioned  Kit 
large,  masculine,  and  determined,  a  tigress  woman. 
Instead  she  saw  a  lithe,  cat-like  creature,  strong, 
no  doubt  (it  had  taken  strength  to  strike  that  blow 
and  Clo  would  have  staked  her  life  that  it  had  been 
struck  by  Kit)  but  not  big  or  massive. 


"KIT"  177 

The  five  minutes  grace  must  certainly  have  passed 
before  Clo  had  come  to  the  end  of  her  inspection,  but 
the  telephone  was  silent.  This  struck  the  girl  as 
ominous,  for  it  might  mean  that  Kit  had  appeared  in 
person  at  the  other  end  of  the  line.  It  might  mean 
that  some  trap  was  being  laid  to  catch  Kit's  double. 

"If  she  turns  up,  and  tells  everything,  they  can't 
let  me  get  away  with  what  I  know,  even  about 
Krantz's  Keller,"  Clo  told  herself.  "They'll  have 
to  send  someone  to  watch,  especially  if  they  think  I'm 
a  'tec,  who's  found  Peterson's  body.  They  won't 
know  what  I'm  like.  All  the  same,  if  they  don't 
call  me  up  in  just  one  minute  more,  I  must  make  a 
bolt.  I'll  count  sixty,  and — see  what  happens." 


xxn 

THE  VOICE  THAT  DID  NOT  SEEM  STRANGE 

WHAT  happened  was  that  the  telephone  began 
ringing  in  the  next  room — Peterson's  room.  It 
began  when  Clo  had  counted  up  to  forty. 

She  had  hoped  not  to  go  back  to  the  room  of  the 
dead  man.  She  had  searched  it  from  end  to  end. 
But  now  she  knew  the  thing  would  have  to  be  done. 

Already  the  jet  and  steel  bag  hung  by  its  ribbons 
over  her  arm.  Clo  switched  off  the  electricity, 
and  let  herself  out  into  the  hall.  Before  she  had 
finished  her  count  of  sixty  seconds  she  was  once 
more  locked  in  Peterson's  room.  So  confidently  had 
she  expected  to  hear  the  same  foreign-sounding 
accents  that  she  almost  dropped  the  receiver  and 
started  away  when  her  "Hello!"  was  answered  by 
a  strange  voice. 

Yet — was  it  a  strange  voice?  As  it  went  on  to 
ask :  "Is  this  Mr.  Peterson ?  "  Clo  had  a  strong  im- 
pression that  she  had  heard  the  voice  before.  As- 
suredly it  was  not  the  one  which  had  talked  to  "Kit," 
but  it  sounded  astonishingly  familiar.  Though  she 
could  not  yet  identify  the  tones  recognition  was  only 
a  question  of  instants. 

"This  is  Mr.  Peterson's  room,"  she  replied.  "He 
is — here.  He  wishes  me  to  speak  for  him." 

178 


THE  VOICE  NOT  STRANGE          179 

"I  had  better  tell  you  before  we  go  further,  then, 
that  I'm  talking  for  Mr.  John  Heron.  When  you 
have  explained  that,  Mr.  Peterson  will  decide  whether 
he'd  rather  come  to  the  'phone  and  attend  to  the 
business  himself." 

Clo  was  glad  of  the  pause.  "John  Heron!" 
That  was  the  man  Peterson  had  mentioned  during 
her  second  conversation  with  him.  He  had  said 
that  Roger  Sands  was  "working  for  John  Heron" 
when  Roger  and  Beverley  met  in  the  train;  and  she — 
Clo — had  heard  the  name  with  a  queer  thrill  which 
she  could  not  understand.  So  far  as  she  knew,  it 
was  strange  to  her:  yet  she  seemed  to  have  heard  it  in 
dreams — sad  dreams,  where  someone  had  sobbed 
in  the  dark.  Through  the  strenuous  adventures 
which  had  kept  body  and  brain  busy  the  girl  had 
recalled  it  again  and  again,  since  the  moment  when 
the  name  had  fallen  from  Peterson's  lips.  She  had 
wondered  if  she  would  ever  have  the  "cheek"  to  ask 
Angel  who  was  John  Heron.  Whoever  he  might 
be,  John  Heron  was  in  some  way  concerned  with 
Beverley's  secret,  or  Peterson  would  not  have  spoken 
his  name  in  that  connection. 

She  answered  quietly:  "Mr.  Peterson  allows  me 
to  go  on  speaking  for  him." 

"Very  well,"  returned  the  voice.  "Mr.  Peterson 
called  Mr.  Heron  up  not  long  ago,  to  say  he  could 
sell  him  a  rope  of  fine  pearls  for  Mrs.  Heron,  at  a  low 
price.  He'd  heard,  it  appears,  that  Mr.  Heron 
wished  to  buy  pearls,  and  he  suggested  an  appoint- 
ment for  to-night.  Mr.  Heron  did  not  receive  this 


180  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

message  himself;  he  was  indisposed  at  the  time  it 
came,  and  Mrs.  Heron  took  it,  but  was  unable  to 
answer  for  her  husband.  He  asks  me  to  say,  in  his 
name,  that  if  Mr.  Peterson  has  some  particularly  fine 
pearls  to  dispose  of,  he'll  be  pleased  to  look  at  them, 
not  to-night,  but  to-morrow  morning  about  ten 
o'clock,  at  his  hotel,  the  Dietz." 

"The  Dietz!"  cried  Clo.  "Now  I  know  who's 
speaking  to  me.  You're  Justin  O'Reilly!" 

Inadvertently  she  had  kept  her  lips  at  the  receiver. 
The  cry  had  flown  to  the  man  who  held  the  line. 

"And  you're  my  girl  burglar!  By  Jove,  I  thought 
I  knew  that  voice!  Are  you  in  the  pearl  business, 
too?  Has  Mrs.  Sands  commissioned  you  and  some 
fellow  called  Peterson  to  sell  her  pearls  to  Mrs.  Heron 
Now  I  begin  to  see  light!  She  tried  to  make  a  bar- 
gain with  me  over  those  pearls.  I  refused  in  Heron's 
name  and  my  own.  What's  her  game  now,  when 
there's  nothing  left  to  bargain  for,  and  you've  sent 
the  papers  back?" 

"Sent  the  papers  back!"  Clo  gasped  into  the 
telephone.  This  coming  into  touch  with  O'Reilly 
over. the  wire  had  been  a  shock.  But  she  forgot  the 
surprise  of  it  in  the  new  surprise  of  his  last  words. 

"Wasn't  it  you  who  sent  them?"  he  went  on. 

She  stopped  to  think  before  daring  a  reply. 
O'Reilly  had  got  the  papers  back,  or  he  wanted  her 
to  think  so,  for  some  reason  of  his  own. 

"Well,  if  you  must  know,  perhaps  I  did  send 
them,"  she  prevaricated. 

"I'm  glad  to  have  this  chance  to  thank  you  for 


THE  VOICE  NOT  STRANGE          181 

repenting.  I  felt  at  the  time  you  weren't  the  stuff 
trick-confidence-ladies  and  burglaresses  are  made  of." 

"I  didn't  exactly  repent,"  confessed  Clo.  "I 
had  an  object  to  gain.  I'm  glad  the  papers  weren't 
lost  on  the  way.  You're  sure  no  one  had  tampered 
with  the  envelope?" 

"Apparently  not.  The  messenger  handed  it  to* 
me  sealed  up  and  seemingly  intact,  with  the  address 
of  my  bank  on  it  in  my  own  handwriting.  The  boy 
wouldn't  say  how  he  knew  I  was  staying  at  the  Dietz. 
He  is  an  ornament  to  his  profession!  I  want  you  to 
know  that  I  don't  bear  malice." 

As  Clo  listened  she  was  surprised  at  the  soothing 
effect  of  his  voice  upon  her  nerves.  It  was  like  hear- 
ing the  voice  of  a  friend.  After  all,  why  should  they 
be  enemies,  since  of  the  two  O'Reilly  was  the  injured 
party,  and  had  just  assured  her  that  he  didn't  "bear 
malice?"  But  he  was  going  on  to  ask  what  was  the 
"object"  she  had  wished  to  gain.  "Do  you  mean  to 
tell  me,  or  is  it  one  of  your  many  mysteries?" 

"I  realized  I'd  gone  to  work  with  you  in  the  wrong 
way,"  she  ventured.  "Now  I  need  someone's  help. 
I  need  it  horribly.  It  ought  to  be  a  man's  help. 
And,  except  Mr.  Sands,  you're  the  only  man  I 
know." 

She  heard  O'Reilly  laughing.  He  wouldn't  laugK 
if  he  could  see  what  her  eyes  saw! 

"So  you  want  to  call  a  truce?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  if  I  could  trust  you." 

"I  like  that!  I  wasn't  the  betrayer.  But  never 
mind.  Your  second  thoughts  are  best.  And  any- 


182  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

how,  you  weren't  working  for  yourself.    Do  you 
really  want  my  help?" 

"Don't  I?    But  it  would   be   for— for You 

know  whom  I  mean.    And  you're  her  enemy,  aren't 

you?" 

"Not  the  least  in  the  world.  But  I  can't  buy  her 
pearls,  and  I'm  sure  Heron  will  refuse  to  bargain 
if " 

"The  pearls  aren't  for  sale  any  more.  They've 
been  stolen.  _  She  thinks  you  took  them  for  a  hold- 
up." 

"  The  devil  she  does !  But  you  know  better.  Tell 
me  what  you  wish  me  to  do  for  you,  and  I'll  do  it; 
I  wanted  to  see  you  again.  You  were  like  a  bad  but 
interesting  dream,  broken  off  in  the  midst,  that  I 
longed  to  dream  over  again." 

"I  feel  as  if  I  had  been  broken  off  in  the  midst!" 
said  CIo.  "I  may  be  broken  past  mending  if  some- 
body doesn't  pick  up  the  pieces  good  and  quick! 
What  I  want  you  to  do  is  to  meet  me  outside  the 
Westmorland.  Will  you?  And  if  so,  how  soon?" 

"I  will,"  came  the  answer.  "I'll  be  there  in  eight 
minutes,  with  a  taxi.  Does  that  suit  you?" 

"Yes.  Have  the  taxi  drawn  up  in  front  of  the 
hotel,  and  as  it  slows  down,  I'll  jump  in.  Give  the 
chauffeur  an  order — before  he  starts — not  to  stop, 
you  know,  but  to  go  on  the  instant  I'm  in.  A  lot 
may  depend  on  that." 

"What  mischief  have  you  been  up  to?"  asked  the 
laughing  voice,  which  to  Clo,  in  the  room  of  death, 
seemed  to  come  from  another  world. 


THE  VOICE  NOT  STRANGE  183 

She  shuddered  as  her  eyes  turned  to  the  figure  in 
the  chair. 

"Good-bye!"  she  said,  and  hung  up  the  receiver 
without  another  word. 

Eight  minutes!  It  would  take  her  about  three 
to  get  out  of  the  room,  down  the  stairs,  and  to  the 
front  door — if  all  went  well.  What  was  she  to  do 
with  the  other  five?  Now  that  her  mission  was 
ended,  she  could  not  stay  where  she  was.  She  had 
reached,  and  almost  passed,  the  limit  of  her  en- 
durance. One  idle  moment  in  that  place  would 
surely  drive  her  mad!  Yet  she  could  not  stand  in 
the  street,  waiting  for  O'Reilly  to  come  to  the  rescue. 
Kit  and  the  man  who  had  talked  to  Kit  might  be 
ready  to  pounce  upon  her  there. 


xxm 

"WHAT'S  DONE  CAN'T  BE  UNDONE" 

"DON'T  be  frightened,  Mums !  It's  only  me,  back 
earlier  than  I  expected,"  Ellen  Blackburne  an- 
nounced herself  at  the  door  of  her  mother's  bedroom. 

Mrs.  Blackburne  was  propped  up  in  bed,  reading 
Young's  "Night  Thoughts." 

"Of  course,  I'm  not  frightened!"  she  reassured 
her  daughter.  "I'm  only  surprised.  That's  what 
makes  my  hands  tremble." 

"I  was  in  hopes  you'd  have  gone  to  sleep," 
said  Ellen,  "and  I  could  slip  in  without  giving  you 
a  start.  I  stopped  the  taxi  at  the  corner  on  pur- 
pose." 

"I'm  delighted  to  have  you  back.  But  why  did 
you  bring  the  pearls  home  to  string?  Now  you'll 
be  sitting  up  the  whole  blessed  night!" 

"Don't  you  worry!"  Ellen  soothed  her.  "I'm 
not  going  to  sit  up.  I'm  going  to  bed.  Shall  I 
leave  the  door  open  between  the  rooms  while  I  un- 
dress, or  shall  I  just  kiss  you  good-night  now,  and  let 
you  rest  in  peace?  " 

The  little  woman  had  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the 
bed,  but  as  she  spoke,  she  stood  up.  It  struck  the 
older  woman  that,  for  some  reason,  she  was  in  a 
hurry  to  get  away. 

184 


"WHAT'S  DONE  CAN'T  BE  UNDONE"  185 

"There's  something  you  don't  want  to  tell  me, 
isn't  there,  dear?"  her  mother  quietly  observed. 

"Well,  you  have  the  most  wonderful  intuition!" 
Ellen  praised  her  parent.  "I  believe  you  could  see 
through  a  wall.  It's  only  that  I  didn't  want  to  wake 
you  up  and  make  you  nervous,  so  you  would  have  a 
bad  night." 

"I  shall  have  a  better  night  if  I  don't  need  to  rack 
my  brain  thinking  over  what  might  have  happened." 

"Oh,  all  right!"  sighed  Ellen,  and  sat  down  again. 
"You're  a  grand  safety  valve,  you  know,  Mums, 
because  I  can  talk  to  you,  and  be  sure  that  whatever 
I  say  will  be  locked  up  in  your  strong  box.  I  meant 
t,o  write  all  this  down  in  my  note-book,  with  initials 
instead  of  names;  but  the  diary  can't  give  advice. 
You  can.  Only — you're  certain  we  hadn't  best  wait 
till  to-morrow?  " 

"I  shouldn't  close  my  eyes!"  said  Mrs.  Black- 
burne.  "But  I  can  say  this  to  begin  with:  You  did 
the  right  thing.  You  always  do." 

"This  is  different  from  anything  that  ever  came 
into  my  experience,"  Ellen  answered. 

"I  told  you  before  I  started,  I  thought  I  was  in  for 
an  exciting  job.  It  wasn't  only  that  Mr.  Sands  is  a 
sort  of  celebrity,  and  everyone  has  been  talking  of 
Mrs.  Sands  as  a  beauty.  It  was  the  man  himself 
gave  me  a  kind  of  thrilled  feeling  the  minute  I  saw 
him.  Mums,  Roger  Sands  is  the  sort  I  could  fall 
in  love  with,  if  I  was  the  falling-in-love  type.  He's 
strong  and  silent.  He  isn't  a  bit  a  woman's  man. 
I  don't  know  how  to  describe  him,  exactly.  He 


186  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

made  me  feel  as  if  I  longed  to  do  something  for  him. 
I  was  mighty  keen  to  see  what  Mrs.  Sands  would  be 
like.  I  suppose  to  see  what  style  of  woman  he'd 
worship  enough  to  pick  up  from  the  gutter." 

"Goodness  me,  child!"  broke  in  Mrs.  Blackburne, 
absorbed.  "You  don't  mean  that's  where  she  came 
from?  I  never  heard " 

"No — no!  I  oughtn't  to  have  used  that  expres- 
sion," Ellen  confessed,  "though  they  tell  all  sorts 
of  stories  about  her  origin.  I  daresay  none  of  'em 
are  right,  and  not  a  soul  knows  the  truth.  People 
have  given  her  a  nickname:  'the  girl  from  nowhere/ 
But  you've  only  to  see  her  to  realize  at  once  that 
whatever  she  was,  she  must  have  been  brought  up 
like  a  princess." 

"Handsome?" 

"  A  dream  of  beauty.  She's  worthy  of  her  husband 
that  way,  but  she's  not  in  other  ways.  That's  my 
excuse." 

"Your  excuse,  lovey?     For  what?" 

"For  what  I  did.  But  you  won't  know  why  I  did 
it,  or  forgive  me  for  doing  it,  unless  I  tell  you  the 
story  as  I  understand  it." 

"Go  right  on,  dear,  and  take  your  time.  I  won't 
interrupt  again."  So  Ellen  gave  her  mother  a 
succinct  account  of  all  that  had  befallen  her,  until 
the  fateful  moment  when  she  discovered  that  the 
pearls  were  not  in  their  case. 

"The  case  empty!  The  pearls  gone!  My  good- 
iiess  me!"  gasped  the  old  lady. 

"I  never  had  such  a  scare  in  my  life.     Mrs.  Sands 


"WHAT'S  DONE  CAN'T  BE  UNDONE"  187 

had  told  me  how  she'd  been  dressing  in  her  bedroom, 
with  the  door  wide  open  into  the  boudoir,  because 
the  pearls  were  there,  all  ready  for  me  to  begin  on,  if 
I  arrived  before  she'd  got  into  her  gown.  She  either 
believed  the  pearls  were  in  the  case,  or  else  she  wanted 
me  to  believe  she  believed  it!  The  desperate  state 
she  was  in,  under  her  pretty  manner,  made  me  think 
maybe  she  was  playing  some  dreadful  trick,  and  after 
I'd  got  over  the  first  shock  of  surprise  I  was  mad 
with  that  woman.  'She  doesn't  care  if  she  ruins  me, 
so  she  can  save  herself  from  a  scrape,'  was  what  I 
thought  about  her.  I  made  up  my  mind  I  wouldn't 
be  catspaw,  to  pull  her  chestnuts  out  of  the  fire." 

"What  did  you  do?"  breathed  Mrs.  Blackburne, 
sitting  straight  up  in  bed. 

"I  rang  the  bell  for  the  butler.  He  came  to  the 
door  in  an  instant.  I  told  him  to  call  Mrs.  Sands  at 
once,  it  was  urgent.  I  thought  that  would  fetch  her, 
but  it  didn't.  It  was  the  man  who  came  back.  He 
seemed  a  bit  embarrassed:  Mrs.  Sands  was  very  busy 
at  the  moment,  it  would  be  a  little  while  before  she 
was  at  liberty.  It  came  into  my  head  that  she  was 
leaving  me  alone  as  long  as  possible  in  the  room  where 
her  wonderful  pearls  were  supposed  to  be,  so  she  could 
accuse  me  of  making  away  with  them,  when  the 
truth  had  to  come  out,  that  the  pearls  were  gone. 
I  saw  just  one  thing  to  do.  I  told  the  butler  to  call 
Mr.  Sands,  quick.  'Mr.  Sands  is  just  going,'  he 
said.  'I  was  ready  to  help  him  on  with  his  coat  when 
you  rang.'  'Well,  beg  him  to  step  in  here  one  in- 
stant,' said  I.  The  man  went  out;  and  I  couldn't 


188  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

have  counted  ten  before  Mr.  Sands  appeared.  I 
pointed  to  the  empty  case  that  was  open  on  the  table, 
and  explained  in  about  a  dozen  words — I  wanted  to 
finish  before  Madam  arrived! — that  Mrs.  Sands  had 
told  me  to  look  in  the  case  for  the  pearls;  that  she 
went  out  in  a  hurry;  and  when  I  looked,  the  pearls 
weren't  there.  'I  sent  and  asked  her  to  come,'  I 
went  on,  *but  she  was  busy.' 

"Well,  Mother,  the  face  of  that  man  just  broke 
my  heart!  It  was  more  as  if  some  awful  thing  he'd 
half  expected,  had  come  true.  I  might  have  stuck  a 
knife  in  his  heart. 

"'Does  my  wife  know  you  asked  for  me  when  she 
couldn't  come?'  was  the  first  thing  he  said  after 
he'd  stood  quite  still  for  a  second  or  two.  I  told  him 
no,  I'd  taken  the  responsibility  on  myself,  and  I 
hoped  I  hadn't  done  wrong. 

"  'Not  wrong,'  said  he.  'You  meant  well,  I'm  sure. 
Still,  I  wish  the  news  had  come  to  me  from  my  wife 
and  no  one  else.' 

"Then  he  walked  over  to  the  window,  and  stood 
looking  out.  If  I  hadn't  known  he  was  there,  I 
shouldn't  have  seen  him.  The  curtains  were  drawn, 
not  all  across,  but  partly,  and  it  was  a  sort  of  bay 
window,  so  there  was  room  for  him  to  stand  behind 
the  curtains,  in  the  shadow  they  made.  He  hadn't 
been  there  two  seconds,  I  give  you  my  word,  when 
the  door  flew  open,  and  Mrs.  Sands  bounced  in. 

"You  sent  for  me?'  she  asked,  and  threw  a  look 
round  the  room,  as  if  searching  for  someone.  I  felt 
I  should  die  if  her  husband  came  out — but  he  didn't. 


"WHAT'S  DONE  CAN'T  BE  UNDONE"  189 

I  managed  to  stammer  that  the  pearls  weren't  in 
their  case,  and  so  on;  and  it  seemed  as  if  my  words 
turned  her  to  a  block  of  marble!  She  just  stared  at 
me.  'Maybe  you  think  I  stole  the  pearls!'  I  said 
right  out.  She  assured  me  quite  nicely  that  she  be- 
lieved nothing  so  foolish,  and  that  even  if  I'd  wanted 
to  steal  the  things,  I  couldn't  have  smuggled  them 
away  from  the  house.  (Of  course,  I  could,  though,  if 
there  had  been  time.)  My  heart  melted  to  her,  I  must 
confess.  But  I  was  thinking  more  of  her  husband. 
It  was  up  to  me  to  get  him  out  of  the  fix.  I  suggested 
to  Mrs.  Sands  calling  in  Clo,  to  see  what  she  could 
make  of  the  business.  The  instant  she  was  gone, 
out  from  the  bay  window  stalked  her  husband !  By 
that  time  I  was  at  the  door.  I'd  opened  it  for  Mrs. 
Sands.  I  hardly  dared  glance  at  him — it  seemed  so 
prying.  All  I  know — for  sure,  now — is  that  he 
stopped  for  an  instant  at  the  table.  He  had  to  pass 
it,  on  the  way  from  his  hiding  place  to  the  door.  I 
supposed  then,  when  he  paused  there,  that  he  would  be 
gazing  at  the  empty  velvet  case.  But  he  may  have 
been  doing  something  different — I'll  tell  you  why  and 
what,  in  a  minute. 

"I  stood  without  moving,  and,  as  he  came  near  the 
door  he  stopped  again.  'Miss  Blackburne/  he  said, 
'you've  been  mixed  up  against  your  will,  and  not  by 
any  fault  of  your  own,  in  an  unfortunate  business. 
It's  a  family  affair,  and  I  feel  certain  you'll  keep 
your  own  counsel.  Don't  think  I'm  trying  to  bribe 
you.  I'm  not.  But  I  should  like  you  to  accept 
this.'  My  arms  were  hanging  straight  down  at  my 


190  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

sides,  but  he  managed  to  stick  something  into  one  of 
my  hands.  What  do  you  think  it  was?" 

"Fifty  dollars?"  her  mother  guessed. 

"  Fifty  fiddlesticks !    It  was  five  hundred ! " 

"My  heavens!  Enough  to  pay  off  the  mortgage. 
But  you  couldn't  possibly  accept  it?" 

"I  said  no.  I  swore  that  I'd  done  nothing  to  earn 
a  cent:  that  wild  horses  wouldn't  drag  from  me  any- 
thing I'd  seen,  or  heard,  or  even  imagined,  in  his 
house.  But  Mr.  Sands  insisted.  'It  will  give  me 
pleasure  for  you  to  have  the  money.  It's  little 
enough,'  he  said.  Then  he  walked  right  out.  He 
must  have  gone  back  to  his  own  room  instead  of 
leaving  the  flat  just  then,  for  I  saw  him  again  later. 
I'll  tell  you  about  that.  But  do  you  think  it  was 
wrong  to  keep  the  money?" 

"In  the  circumstances,  no,"  Mrs.  Blackburne 
decided.  "It  would  have  hurt  his  feelings  to  give  it 
back.  Oh,  my  dear,  five  hundred  dollars!  It's  like 
a  fairy  gift,  just  when  we're  needing  it  so  much ! " 

"Well,  I'd  got  the  bills  tucked  away  when  Mrs. 
Sands  came  running  in.  She  made  for  the  table,  the 
way  a  pointer  goes  for  a  shot  bird.  She  hadn't  a 
glance  for  the  velvet  case.  She  was  searching  for 
something  else.  Oh,  Mother,  it  scared  me  to  see  her ! 
She  threw  everything  about.  She  was  out  of  her 
head.  A  tall  vase  of  flowers  tipped  over,  and  splashed 
water  on  the  books,  and  even  on  the  velvet  case.  I 
don't  think  she  knew  it  had  happened.  Books  fell 
on  the  floor.  She  didn't  see  or  care.  Then  she  sank 
all  of  a  heap  into  a  big  chair  close  by.  'The  enve- 


"WHAT'S  DONE  CAN'T  BE  UNDONE"  191 

lope?'  she  gasped,  as  if  she  were  choked  by  a  hand 
on  her  throat.  'It  was  there.  Where  is  it  now? '  j 

"I  told  her  I  hadn't  seen  any  envelope,  which  was 
perfectly  true.  She  described  it:  quite  a  big,  long 
envelope,  made  of  linen,  and  sealed  up  with  several 
red  seals.  I  swore  over  again  I  hadn't  seen  an  en- 
velope of  any  description.  At  last  she  had  to  believe 
me.  But  the  worst  was  to  come.  'Did  you  leave 
the  room,  for  so  much  as  a  second,  after  I  left  you?* 
she  asked,  with  her  eyes  on  my  face.  I  told  her  I 
hadn't  stirred  outside  the  door;  but  what  I  was  scared 
of  came  next :  'Did  any  one  come  in?  " 

"Oh,  lovey,  I  hope  you  didn't  have  to  tell  a  false- 
hood?" 

"That  depends  on  what  you  call  a  falsehood," 
said  Miss  Blackburne.  "I  hate  fibs  as  much  as  you 
do.  But  it  was  an  awful  fix!" 

"It  was,"  Mums  agreed. 

"You  see,"  Ellen  went  on,  to  make  her  position 
clear,  "I  had  asked  Mr.  Sands  not  to  let  his  wife 
know  I'd  called  him  in.  Later, he  pressed  that  money 
on  me,  and  I  accepted  it.  I  felt  as  if  it  had  bought 
me,  body  and  soul.  When  he  stood  by  the  table,  he 
must  have  seen  that  envelope,  and  taken  it.  Well, 
now,  I  ask  you,  could  I  give  him  away?" 

"I  don't  see  how  you  could,"  wailed  the  old  lady. 

"Neither  did  I.  'Did  any  one  come  in?'  I  echoed, 
when  Mrs.  Sands  put  the  question.  'Wouldn't  I 
have  mentioned  it  to  you  the  first  thing,  if  any  one 
had?'  Was  that  a  falsehood,  or  wasn't  it?" 

"It  was  a  prevarication,"  answered  Mrs.  Black- 


192  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

burne,  "and  I  think  I  should  have  done  the  same 
thing." 

"Thank  goodness!"  sighed  Ellen.     "That's  what 
I  wanted  to  know.     You  don't  blame  me,  then?  " 
"I  feel  you  acted  for  the  best.     And  it's  done  now ! " 
"Yes,  it's  done,  and  can't  be  undone,"  the  pearl- 
stringer  echoed. 


xxrv 

ROGER'S  APPOINTMENT  AT  THE  CLUB 

ROGER  SANDS  dined  alone  at  his  club  that  night. 
Many  men  hailed  him  as  he  came  in,  very  late,  and  in 
sixty  seconds  he  received  six  invitations  to  dine.  He 
refused  them  all,  however. 

It  was  with  the  hope  of  meeting  a  certain  man 
that  Roger  had  gone  to  the  club.  He  had  excused 
himself  to  Beverley  on  the  plea  of  an  appointment, 
because  he  had  wanted  to  be  alone,  and  had  no  in- 
tention of  dining  anywhere. 

It  was  upon  an  impulse  that  he  had  taken  the 
sealed  envelope  addressed  to  Justin  O'Reilly.  After- 
ward, he  felt  that  his  whole  course  of  conduct,  from 
the  moment  he  had  entered  the  room  till  the  moment 
he  had  left  the  flat,  was  radically  wrong.  He  ought, 
perhaps,  to  have  shown  himself  to  Beverley  when 
she  came  in,  despite  Miss  Blackburne's  appeal.  If 
he  had  done  this,  he  would  have  learned  the  truth 
about  that  envelope.  Seeing  her  husband  at  such  a 
moment,  Beverley  must  have  betrayed  herself,  Roger 
thought,  if  there  were  anything  to  betray  in  con- 
nection with  the  envelope.  Had  its  concealment 
been  important,  she  would  mechanically  have  sprung 
to  hide  it.  Had  it  been  left  inadvertently  by 
O'Reilly,  for  no  concern  of  hers,  Beverley's  ignorance 

193 


194  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

of  his  presence,  or  her  indifference,  would  have 
cleared  her  in  Roger's  eyes. 

He  could  not  contemplate  confessing  to  Beverley 
that  he  had  hidden  himself  and  then  taken  the  en- 
velope. She  would  probably  say:  *'I  never  dreamed 
that  you'd  be  mean  enough  to  spy  upon  me!  Why 
didn't  you  show  yourself,  like  a  brave  man,  instead 
of  hiding?" 

No,  he  would  not  tell  Beverley  that  he  had  been  a 
witness  of  the  scene  between  her  and  the  pearl- 
stringer;  nor  that  he  was  responsible  for  the  vanish- 
ing of  O'Reilly's  envelope.  Let  her  think  what  she 
liked  about  its  loss,  just  as  he — Roger — was  free  to 
think  what  he  liked  about  the  loss  of  the  pearls ! 
He  would  wait  for  Beverley  to  tell  him  that  the 
pearls  were  gone.  Her  carelessness,  to  say  the 
best  of  it,  her  ingratitude  and  disloyalty,  to  say 
the  worst,  gave  him  the  right  to  keep  his  knowledge 
to  himself.  He  would  wait  and  see  what  Beverley 
meant  to  do.  Then  he  decided  to  send  back  the 
sealed  letter  to  O'Reilly.  Ten  minutes  after  leav- 
ing home  he  had  given  the  envelope  to  a  mes- 
senger, with  directions  to  take  it  at  once  to  the 
Dietz. 

It  was  when  he  had  thus  disciplined  himself,  that 
Roger  turned  toward  the  club.  A  man  who  was 
an  old  acquaintance  of  Roger's,  and  a  friend  of 
O'Reilly's,  often  dropped  in  there  on  a  Sunday  even- 
ing. Possibly  he  would  come  that  night.  Roger 
liad  thought  of  a  question  to  ask.  He  saw  that  there 
might  be  a  way  to  getting  even  with  O'Reilly,  a  way 


ROGER'S  APPOINTMENT  195 

just  as  efficacious,  and  more  open,  than  the  one  he 
had  sacrificed. 

While  he  pretended  to  dine  and  read  an  "evening 
edition,"  a  hateful  little  voice  in  Roger's  brain 
chirped  suggestions  to  him.  What  if  Beverley  had 
somehow  been  in  O'Reilly's  power?  What  if  she  had 
written  him  love  letters  which  afterward  she  wished 
to  get  back,  and  he  refused  to  surrender?  What  if 
she  had  contrived  to  steal  them,  and  O'Reilly  had 
followed,  for  reprisals?  What  if,  since  then,  the  man 
had  been  torturing  her,  and  Clodagh  Riley  (a  poor 
relation  of  Justin  O'Reilly's,  perhaps)  had  been  act- 
ing as  a  go-between?  WTiat  if  the  girl  had  pretended 
illness  as  an  excuse  to  bring  O'Reilly  into  the  flat, 
and  the  man  had  frightened  Beverley  into  giving  him 
the  pearls? 

He  was  sipping  his  demi  tasse,  and  had  ceased  to 
expect  the  man  he  wanted,  when  that  man  walked 
into  the  room.  Before  he  could  sit  down  at  a  neigh- 
bouring table  Roger  hailed  him;  a  small,  dafrk  man 
of  Jewish  type,  a  man  of  forty-five,  perhaps,  with  the 
brilliant  eyes  of  a  scientist  and  the  arched  brows  of  a 
dreamer. 

"Hello,  Doctor  Lewis!  I've  been  hoping  you'd 
blow  in!"  Sands  said  cordially.  "Won't  you  dine 
with  me?" 

"But  you've  finished.    I'd  be  keeping  you." 

"I  want  a  talk  with  you,  my  dear  chap,"  Roger 
assured  him. 

The  doctor  sat  down  at  Sands'  table. 

"I'd  have  got  here  a  long  while  ago,"  Doctor 


196  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

Lewis  went  on  to  explain,  "but  just  as  I  was  leaving 
the  Dietz,  where  I  have  a  patient,  I  was  asked  to 
stop  and  see — whom  do  you  think?  " 

"Your  friend,  O'Reilly,  perhaps.  Someone  men- 
tioned to  me  that  he  was  there." 

"No,"  said  Lewis,  "not  O'Reilly,  but  as  it  happens, 
a  friends  of  O'Reilly's,  in  the  same  hotel,  who  sud- 
denly collapsed." 

"I  can  guess,  then,"  replied  Sands.  "I  know  the 
Herons  are  at  the  Dietz.  Your  patient  was  one  of 
those  two — Mrs.  Heron,  I  should  say.  I  don't 
somehow  see  Heron  'collapsing.' " 

"My  patient  was  Heron,  not  his  wife.  The  attack 

was  nothing  serious,  but  Mrs.  H was  scared. 

You  and  Heron  are  as  fast  friends  as  ever,  of  course?  " 

"I  admire  John  Heron  in  many  ways,"  Roger 
answered,  indirectly. 

"And  he  ought  to  admire  you,  as  certainly  he  does! 
A  good  many  people  thought  you  risked  your  life, 
throwing  yourself  into  that  business  in  California, 
the  way  you  did,  Sands.  But  you  came  out  on  top, 
and  brought  Heron  out  on  top.  Your  reward  was 
great!" 

Roger  smiled.  He  was  thinking  of  the  journey 
back,  after  his  triumph,  and  of  Beverley.  She  had 
been  his  reward.  Once  it  had  seemed  great. 

"Have  you  seen  Heron  since  he  got  to  New  York?" 
said  the  doctor. 

"Not  yet,"  said  Sands. 

"Well,  he's  hardly  more  than  just  arrived.  He- 
ron's a  wiry  chap.  It  needs  a  good  deal  to  knock 


ROGER'S  APPOINTMENT  197 

him  over.  If  it  had  happened  last  summer,  or  fall, 
when  the  big  row  was  on,  there'd  have  been  plenty  of 
excuse,  as  Mrs.  Heron  remarked.  It  appears  the  two 
had  been  quietly  sitting  together  down  below,  in  the 
big  hall,  watching  the  crowd,  and  waiting  for  Justin 

O'Reilly  to  go  in  with  them  to  dinner.  Mrs.  H 

sent  Heron  back  to  their  bedrooms  to  find  something 
she'd  forgotten.  She  got  scared  at  last  when  time 
passed  and  neither  Heron  nor  O'Reilly  came  down. 
She  went  to  see  for  herself  what  was  up,  and  found  her 
husband  in  a  fainting  fit.  She  'phoned  just  as  I  was 
leaving  my  other  patient,  and  by  the  time  I  arrived 
on  the  scene  O'Reilly  had  floated  in  from  the  next- 
door  suite.  He'd  been  out  while  the  Herons  thought 
he  was  dressing  to  dine  with  them.  All's  well  that 
ends  well.  Heron  will  be  as  brisk  as  ever  in  a  day  or 
two." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  that,"  Roger  said,  gravely.  "As 
you  say,  Heron's  not  a  man  to  be  knocked  over  easily. 
Last  year,  when  I  was  in  California,  he  came  within 
an  ace  of  being  shot  one  night,  and  never  turned  a 
hair." 

"His  wife  was  asking  him,  when  he  came  to,  a  lot 
of  questions.  Heron  wouldn't  want  to  worry  her, 
naturally.  Didn't  she  have  some  great  shock  last 
summer,  or  fall,  while  you  were  out  West?  A  brother 
who  was  killed,  or  killed  himself?" 

"A  brother  who  died  suddenly.  There  was  no 
proof  of  violence.  The  young  man's  death  occurred 
the  day  I  left,  and  not  in  California,  but  in  New 
Mexico — near  the  town  of  Albuquerque,  at  a  house 


198  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

belonging  to  Mrs.  Heron.  The  Herons  haven't 
been  married  many  years,"  Roger  went  on.  "Not 
more  than  eight  or  ten.  Mrs.  Heron  can't  be 
much  over  thirty.  I  never  saw  the  brother.  He 
was  something  of  an  invalid,  and  lived  always  at 
the  Albuquerque  place.  His  handsome  sister  stayed 
with  him  sometimes.  He  was  a  few  years  younger 
than  she.'* 

Sands  had  the  air  of  giving  these  details  some- 
what grudgingly,  as  a  concession  to  the  very  evident 
curiosity  of  Lewis:  but  having  satisfied  it  as  far  as 
necessary,  he  turned  the  conversation  to  his  own 
affairs:  the  affairs,  in  fact,  which  had  suggested  to 
him  this  meeting  with  the  doctor. 

"  Whenever  I  have  leisure  just  now  I  cut  down  to 
Newport  to  see  how  the  decorators  get  on  with  an 
alleged  'cottage'  I've  bought  there  for  my  wife,"  he 
said.  "It's  been  quite  an  amusement  to  me  for 
the  past  few  weeks.  I'm  tired  of  living  in  an  apart- 
ment, though  ours  isn't  bad,  as  flats  go.  I  want 
a  house,  and  I  want  an  old  one,  or  my  wife  does, 
with  a  little  romance  of  history  attached  to  it.  I'd 
like  to  get  hold  of  one,  as  a  surprise  for  her. 
I  know  there  aren't  many  in  the  market.  I  sup- 
pose there's  nothing  good  down  in  your  neighbour- 
hood?" 

"Well,  as  you  know,  Gramercy  Park  and  all 
round  there  has  been  pretty  thoroughly  modernized," 
said  Lewis,  who  lived  in  a  big  new  house  of 
apartments,  not  far  from  Gramercy  Park.  "The 
only  fine,  old-fashioned  mansion  I  can  think  of, 


ROGER'S  APPOINTMENT  199 

that  would  just  suit  you  is  Miss  Theresa  O'Reilly's 
— a  patient  of  mine — when  she's  any  one's 
patient.  Do  you  know  anything  about  the  ancient 
dame?" 

Roger  knew  so  much  that  he  had  waited  for  Lewis 
entirely  for  the  reason  that  Miss  Theresa  O'Reilly 
was  a  patient  of  his. 

"Isn't  she  related  to  your  friend,  Justin  O'Reilly?  " 
he  inquired. 

"She's  a  distant  cousin.  As  for  the  house,  Justin 
feels  that  it  ought  to  be  his.  I  have  this  from  her, 
not  from  him.  The  old  lady  told  me  the  other  day 
that  she  heard  Justin  had  been  hoarding  up  his  money 
to  buy  the  house,  and  was  coming  to  New  York  on 
purpose  to  talk  matters  over,  but  she  would  refuse 
to  see  him." 

"A  cranky  old  bird!"  Sands  sympathized. 

"You're  right.  Last  year  she  mentioned  to 
several  people,  me  among  others,  that  she  thought 
of  offering  the  place  for  sale  if  she  could  get  a  good 
price,  because  the  New  York  climate  gave  her  rheu- 
matism, and  she'd  like  to  try  the  French  Riviera. 
But  the  minute  she'd  spoken  to  me — a  friend  of 
Justin's — she  could  have  cut  out  her  tongue.  You 
see,  Justin's  great-great-grandfather  built  the  house: 
an  Irishman  who  came  over  before  the  Revolution, 
and  fought  with  the  Americans  against  the  English. 
It  remained  in  the  family  till  a  few  years  before 
Justin's  birth,  when  his  father  was  obliged  to  sell 
through  poverty,  and  move  out  West.  This  old 
lady,  Theresa  O'Reilly,  was  the  purchaser.  She 


200  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

was,  of  course,  a  youngish  woman  then,  though  no 
chicken.  The  story  is  that  she  loved  Justin's 
father,  and  tried  to  catch  him  with  her  money — 
she  was  a  rich  heiress.  He  was  on  the  point  of  en- 
gaging himself  when  he  fell  desperately  in  love  with  a 
poor  girl  Theresa  employed  as  social  secretary,  or 
something  of  the  sort.  Out  of  revenge,  Theresa 
went  to  work  in  secret  ways  to  ruin  Justin  Senior, 
who  was  a  gay,  careless  fellow,  without  too  much 
money  to  lose,  or  too  much  patience  to  make  more. 
She's  said  to  have  put  men  up  to  lead  him  into  bad 
investments.  Anyhow,  she  got  the  house,  and  Cali- 
fornia got  the  man  and  his  family.  I  imagine 
there  was  a  hard  struggle  out  there  at  first.  Young 
Justin  has  had  to  carve  his  own  fortune:  his  father 
and  mother,  and  an  older  brother,  died  when  he  was 
a  boy.  All  this  long  story  came  out  of  your  wanting 
an  old  house.  It  can't  have  interested  you  much, 
I'm  afraid!" 

"Certainly,  there's  enough  romance  attached  to 
that  house!"  said  Roger,  with  a  short  laugh.  "But 
Miss  O'Reilly  has  changed  her  mind,  and  won't  sell?' 

"So  she  assures  me,"  answered  Lewis.  "You 
see,  she  couldn't  be  sure  Justin  wasn't  standing  be- 
hind a  dummy  buyer,  now  she  knows  he's  definitely 
after  the  place,  and  able  to  purchase  for  a  decent 
price.  I  take  it  that  in  the  circumstances  she  won't 
sell  to  any  one.  Perhaps  she  never  meant  to  when 
the  test  came." 

"So  poor  O'Reilly  wants  the  home  of  his  an- 
cestors?" 


ROGER'S  APPOINTMENT  201 

"He  does.  I've  known  of  that  dream  for  years. 
He  told  me  once  he'd  grown  up  with  it." 

Roger  made  his  comment  upon  this:  but  he  deter- 
mined to  write  to  Miss  O'Reilly  the  moment  Lewis 
had  gone. 


XXV 
KRANTZ'S  KELLER 

CLO  had  been  able  to  think  very  clearly,  while 
there  had  been  something  definite  to  think  about, 
but  her  brain  refused  this  problem  of  an  extra  five 
minutes,  which  might  mean  success  or  failure.  She 
couldn't  stop  where  she  was;  she  couldn't  hang 
about  in  the  street,  lest  the  real  Kit  had  given  the 
false  Kit  away  to  the  "gang";  yet  to  dawdle  in  the 
corridor,  or  on  the  stairs  of  the  Westmorland  Hotel, 
was  unthinkable.  When  the  murder  of  Peterson  was 
discovered  someone  might  remember  that  slim  girl  in 
brown.  The  police  were  diabolically  clever — now 
and  then.  Who  could  say  if  they  might  not  trace 
that  girl  in  brown,  and,  finding  her,  eventually  reach 
Beverley  Sands? 

"One  minute  must  have  gone,  just  while  I've 
been  thinking  of  it!"  Clo  told  herself.  "And  Pet- 
erson hasn't  come  alive.  Now,  if  I  can  only  think 
hard  enough,  and  forget  him  and  the  silence,  for  two 
or  three  minutes,  I  can  start." 

But  the  silence  broke.  Once  more  her  nerves 
thrilled  to  the  telephone  bell.  She  was  standing 
by  the  door,  her  back  resolutely  turned  to  the  figure 
in  the  chair,  when  the  sound  began.  The  girl 
snatched  the  receiver  and  called  "Hello"  but  no  one 

202 


KRANTZ'S  KELLER  203 

answered.  She  must  get  out  quickly,  at  the  risk 
of  having  to  wait  in  the  street  before  O'Reilly  could 
arrive. 

"Unless  they  live  close  by,  they  won't  have  had 
time  to  reach  me  yet,  even  if  Kit's  given  the  show 
away,"  Clo  thought.  But  of  course,  "Chuff"  might 
have  'phoned  from  a  house  round  the  corner.  Pe- 
terson might  have  chosen  the  Westmorland  Hotel 
in  order  to  be  near  his  friends! 

Clo  locked  the  door,  took  out  the  key,  and  dropped 
it  behind  the  trunk  at  the  end  of  the  hall.  That 
would  not  be  unfair  to  the  owner  of  the  trunk,  she 
thought,  for  in  any  case,  the  blood  stains  would 
direct  suspicion  to  Peterson's  vanished  neighbour. 
The  key  would  be  only  a  detail. 

As  she  descended  the  stairways  leading  from  the 
sixth  story  to  the  ground  floor,  she  met  two  or 
three  men,  but  they  had  the  air  of  tired  commercial 
travellers  going  up  to  bed.  Apparently  the  veiled 
girl  in  brown  had  no  special  interest  for  them.  Next 
came  the  ordeal  of  the  entrance  hall,  and  passing 
the  desk;  but  there  a  new  group  of  men  had  collected. 
Clo  peered  through  her  brown  veil,  but  encountered 
no  curious  glances.  Yet  the  worst  was  to  come. 
The  eight  minutes  could  hardly  have  run  out;  besides, 
O'Reilly  might  be  late.  If  "Kit"  were  true  to  her 
pals,  and  if  she  had  seen  from  her  hiding  place  in 
the  trunk,  who  went  into  Peterson's  room,  the  com- 
ing moment  might  hold  the  greatest  peril  of  all.  The 
girl  hesitated  at  the  door,  then  sprang  into  the  street 
as  she  might  have  sprung  into  a  wave. 


204  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

Plenty  of  people  were  passing  as  she  walked  slowly 
away.  She  had  not  taken  many  steps,  however, 
when  a  taxi  separated  itself  from  others  in  the 
double  line  of  moving  vehicles,  and  slackened  speed 
near  the  curb.  The  window  was  open,  and  Justin 
O'Reilly  was  looking  out.  Clo  gave  a  welcoming 
cry,  and  waved  Kit's  bead  bag.  He  caught  her  eye, 
spoke  to  the  chauffeur,  and  the  taxi  slowed  down, 
short  of  the  hotel  entrance.  The  girl  ran  back. 
O'Reilly  held  the  door  ajar,  and,  putting  out  his  hand, 
pulled  her  in  while  the  car  was  in  motion.  He  had 
not  forgotten  her  orders,  and  had  instructed  the 
driver.  On  bounded  the  taxi,  as  the  door  slammed 
shut,  and  the  sudden  jerk,  before  Clo  was  seated, 
flung  her  into  O'Reilly's  arms.  He  held  her  for  a 
second  or  two,  and  then  carefully  set  her  by  his  side. 

"By  Jove,  I'm  glad  to  have  you  safe!"  he  said  in  a 
warm,  kind  voice,  which  for  some  reason  made  Clo 
want  to  cry.  "I've  a  hundred  things  to  say  and 
ask,  you  child  or  imp,  but  first  of  all,  where  do  you 
want  to  go?  Home,  or " 

"To  Krantz's  Keller,"  Clo  finished  the  sentence. 
"Do  you  know  where  it  is?" 

"Yes,"  said  O'Reilly.  "I  know,  though  I've  never 
been.  But " 

"I've  got  to  go  there,"  said  Clo.  "If  you  don't 
like,  you  needn't." 

"I  do  like!"  he  laughed.  "What  do  you  know 
about  Krantz's  Keller?" 

"I'll  tell  you  that,  and  other  things,  when  we 
arrive,"  said  Clo.  "Please,  what  time  is  it?" 


KRANTZ'S  KELLER  205 

"No  thanks  to  you  that  I  have  a  watch,  and  can 
answer  that  question,"  he  thrust  at  her  slyly.  The 
street  lights  turned  to  ivory  the  small  face  from  which 
Clo  had  pushed  back  the  veil.  It  was  a  child's  face, 
though  not  impish  or  defiant  now;  but  the  great 
dark  eyes,  it  seemed  to  the  man,  were  a  woman's 
eyes.  He  was  conscious  that  never  in  his  life  had 
he  been  so  intensely  interested  in  a  female  thing. 
She  had  tricked  him,  she  had  deceived  and  she  had 
robbed  him.  Yet  his  dominant  feeling  was  joyous 
triumph  at  having  found  her  when  he  had  thought 
her  lost.  He  was  happy  because  she  had  summoned 
him,  excited  because  they  were  going  side  by  side 
toward  some  unknown  adventure. 

He  looked  at  his  watch  which  had  been  retrieved 
from  the  wall  safe,  and  said  that  the  time  was 
twelve  minutes  to  eleven.  Krantz's  Keller  was  in 
Fourteenth  Street,  and  they  could  reach  there  at  the 
hour,  for  already  the  cab  was  moving  in  the  right 
direction.  "Are  you  in  a  hurry?"  he  asked,  "or 
shall  we  go  a  round-about  way  and  talk  things 
over?  The  Keller  won't  be  at  its  best  till  nearly 
midnight." 

"I've  a — sort  of  appointment  at  eleven-thirty," 
Clo  said.  "But  I'd  like  to  be  on  the  spot  before 
that,  for  a  look  round  to  get  my  bearings.  I  dare- 
say I  can  tell  you  the  whole  story  in  twelve  minutes. 
I've  learned  the  lesson  to-night  that  almost  anything 
can  happen,  and  you  can  live  years  in  the  time  that  it 
takes  to  button  a  pair  of  shoes." 

"Certainly  you  can  accomplish  more  in  a  few  brief 


206  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

minutes  than  any  other  person  I  ever  met!  My 
own  experience  with  you  proves  that!"  O'Reilly 
laughed.  But  the  girl's  face  was  drawn.  He  re- 
membered hearing  that  she  had  been  dangerously  ill. 
He  wished  her  to  realize  that  he  was  ready  to  give 
sympathy  as  well  as  help.  "I  don't  want  to  talk 
of  myself,  but  of  you.  Tell  me  what  you  care  to 
tell.  You  may  trust  me." 

"You're  sure?"  insisted  Clo.  "I'm  putting  my 
life  in  your  hands." 

"I've  just  my  word  to  give,"  O'Reilly  answered. 
"Look  me  in  the  face  and  decide  if  it's  worth  taking." 

Clo  looked  him  in  the  face,  and  said,  "Yes!  I'll 
tell  you  everything.  Please  don't  ask  questions, 
or  speak  till  I  finish." 

Since  the  moment  when  he  had  been  surprised  by 
'her  voice  at  the  telephone,  and  she  had  claimed  his 
help,  O'Reilly  had  thought  of  fantastic  things,  but 
they  were  commonplace  compared  to  the  story  she 
flung  at  his  head.  To  make  him  understand,  in  ten 
minutes,  why  she  had  to  be  at  Krantz's  Keller 
meant  that  she  must  spring  all  her  facts  upon  him. 
Already,  without  knowing  how  she  had  escaped  at 
the  Dietz,  O'Reilly  had  formed  the  opinion  that  she 
was  a  girl,  not  in  a  thousand  but  in  many  thousands. 
Now,  listening  in  silence,  he  heard  her  tell  what  she 
had  found,  and  what  she  had  done,  in  Peterson's 
room.  She  spoke  in  simple  words.  Yet  O'Reilly 
saw  the  scene  as  if  his  eye  were  at  a  keyhole;  saw 
the  girl  realize  that  she  was  in  the  presence  of  a 
man  not  only  dead,  but  murdered;  saw  the  battle 


KRANTZ'S  KELLER  207 

between  horror  and  courage  as  she  searched  the 
room  and  the  pockets  of  the  corpse  whose  blood- 
stained clothing  was  still  warm.  He  heard  the  bell 
of  the  telephone.  He  followed  Clo  into  the  room 
next  door,  and  marvelled  at  the  way  in  which  she 
drew  information  from  "Chuff."  When  the  taxi 
slowed  down  in  Fourteenth  Street,  she  had  but 
reached  the  point  where  she  "made  a  dash  for  the 
street."  O'Reilly's  brain  had  been  busy.  He  was 
ready  to  give  the  advice  expected. 

Clo  was  talking  still,  while  he  paid  the  chauffeur 
and  sent  him  away.  As  they  entered  the  restaurant 
below  which  lay  Krantz's  Keller,  breathlessly  she 
brought  her  story  to  an  end.  "There!  You  know 
all  I  know!" 

While  they  went  downstairs  side  by  side,  step  by 
step,  O'Reilly  gazed  at  the  girl's  profile.  "I'm  going 
to  fall  in  love  with  this  strange  child,"  he  thought. 
"I'm  in  love  with  her  already." 

They  penetrated  the  blue  curtain  of  tobacco 
smoke  which  veiled  the  cellar  restaurant.  People 
of  all  sorts  were  sitting  at  small,  uncovered  wooden 
tables,  which  were  painted  green.  There  were  long- 
haired foreigners;  there  were  rich  American  Jews. 
There  were  girls  who  looked  like  "show  girls"  or 
chorus  girls  at  least,  companioned  by  fashionably 
dressed  and  silly-faced  boys.  And  all  the  company 
drank  wine  from  oddly  shaped  bottles,  or  beer  out  of 
stone  or  pewter  "krugs."  At  the  end  of  the  long, 
narrow  room  stood  two  huge  casks,  one  on  either 
side  of  a  small  stage  where  three  men  in  the  cos- 


208  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

tumes  of  Tyrolese  peasants  played  a  zither,  a  'cello, 
and  a  violin,  for  a  gaily  dressed  boy  and  girl  to 
dance. 

There  were  a  number  of  tables  still  unoccupied, 
and  of  these  a  few  were  free.  O'Reilly  chose  one 
close  to  the  entrance.  Seated  there,  he  and  Clo 
could  see  everybody  who  came  in  or  went  out.  If 
they  themselves  wished  to  leave  in  a  hurry  it  would 
be  a  convenient  place. 

Clo  could  not  even  pretend  to  eat.  She  asked  for 
strong  coffee,  and  not  to  be  conspicuous  O'Reilly 
ordered  for  himself  beer,  and  food  with  an  odd,  Rus- 
sian sounding  name.  Having  thus  bought  their  right 
to  the  table,  he  leaned  across  to  the  pale  girl. 

"The  time's  come  when  I  can  tell  you  what  I 
think,"  he  said.  "First,  what  I  think  of  you. 
You're  the  bravest  person  I  ever  met,  and  the  most 
loyal.  If  the  woman  for  whose  sake  you've  done 
this  is  worthy  of  her  friend,  why,  I'll  be  on  her  side 
from  this  night  on." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Clo,  meekly.  She  was  very 
tired,  but  vitality  flowed  through  her  jiewly  at 
O'Reilly's  words  and  look.  "I  don't  deserve  such 
a  compliment,  but  she  deserves  everything.  If  I've 
behaved  badly  to  you,  it  was  for  her." 

"I  know,"  said  O'Reilly.  "But  you  weren't  pre- 
cisely *bad/  You  were,  on  the  whole,  rather — 
wonderful.  How  did  you  get  out  of  my  room  with 
the  only  door  locked  on  the  inside?" 

"Oh!"  the  girl  cried,  surprised,  "I  thought  you'd 
guess.  I  went  along  the  stone  ledge  under  the  win- 


KRANTZ'S  KELLER  209 

dow  of  your  bedroom  till  I  came  to  an  open  window 
of  a  room  in  the  next  suite." 

"I  thought  of  that,  when  it  was  too  late;  but  it 
seemed  incredible." 

"It  wasn't  as  hard  to  do  as  I  was  afraid  it  would 
be,"  said  Clo.  "The  other  window  was  open,  the 
curtain  was  blowing  out.  I  caught  hold  of  it,  and  got 
along  somehow,  through  not  looking  down.  Then  in 
the  room  where  I  went  in,  there  was  a  man.  He  was 
at  the  door,  and  I  scared  him  popping  in  that  way 
at  the  window,  so  he  let  me  run  past.  That's  all." 
Firmly  the  girl  closed  the  subject. 

"Let's  talk  about  the  pearls,"  she  said.  "Peterson 
was  a  wicked  man.  I  can't  pretend  to  be  sorry  he's 
been  killed.  He  was  acting  for  others  higher  up.  I 
want  to  find  Kit,  not  because  I  think  she  murdered 
him,  but  because  I'm  sure  she's  got  the  pearls.  Who 
called  out  'Come  in!'  in  a  man's  voice,  when  Peterson 
was  dead?  We  haven't  got  time  to  discuss  the  whole 
business  before  half-past  eleven.  Here  comes  my 
coffee!  It's  going  to  give  me  new  life!" 

"You  must  need  it.  Try  to  nibble  a  few  crumbs 
of  this  rusk,"  O'Reilly  advised.  "I've  been  thinking 
hard  since  you  told  me  how  'Chuff'  'phoned  to  'Pete,' 
and  took  you  for  Kit.  As  for  the  voice  that  called 
'Come  in',  the  wall  being  thin,  a  man  in  the  room 
close  by  might  think  the  knock  was  at  his  door. 
You're  almost  surely  right  about  Eat  being  in  the 
hotel  to  watch  Peterson.  No  doubt  he  was  acting 
for  men  who  have  the  power  to — trouble  Mrs. 
Sands.  Don't  look  at  me  like  a  wild  cat!  I  shan't 


210  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

tell  what  you  don't  want  to  hear,  but  there  certainly 
are  such  men.  Most  likely  Peterson  followed  us  into 
the  Sands'  apartment  without  being  noticed  in  the 
wild  confusion  of  your  fainting.  He  was  there  to  get 
hold  of  the  thing  he  was  blackmailing  her  for,  the 
thing  you  went  back  to  my  hotel  to  steal,  and  then 
repented  stealing.  Naturally  Peterson  didn't  find 
it,  as  it  was  still  in  my  safe  at  the  Dietz,  but  he  might 
have  seen  the  pearls.  The  fellow  must  have  been 
hiding  close  to  Mrs.  Sands  and  me,  when  we  talked, 
or  he  wouldn't  have  known  that  John  Heron  had 
wanted  to  buy  those  pearls!  He  'phoned,  later, 
from  the  Westmorland  to  Heron,  as  you  must  have 
guessed  from  what  I  'phoned  back.  As  for  Kit,  she 
was  in  her  room  next  door  when  he  called  Heron  up, 
and  heard  about  his  having  pearls  to  sell;  or  else  she 
went  in  to  help  him  pack,  and  saw  them.  But 
it  strikes  me  that  a  young  woman  of  her  class 
wouldn't  bash  a  man  on  the  head,  and  risk  the 
Chair,  for  the  righteous  joy  of  turning  a  fortune 
over  to  her  pals.  No,  if  she  killed  Peterson,  she 
killed  him  because  she  wanted  the  pearls  for  herself 
or  a  'sweetheart."' 

"There's  Churn,"  said  Clo.  "He  and  Kit  may  be 
a  'case.'  She  may  have  gone  straight  to  him  with 
the  pearls." 

"'Churn's*  possibly  a  nickname  for  that  Lorenz 
Czerny,  whose  name  you  found  written  on  a  visiting 
card,"  O'Reilly  said.  "  What  with  that  card,  and  the 
memorandum,  and  Kit's  bag,  we  ought  to  get  on  to 
the  track  of  the  gang.  I'm  on  Mrs.  Sands'  side  now. 


KRANTZ'S  KELLER  211 

But  I  know  a  private  detective  who's  worked  for 
clients  of  mine.  He's  close  as  an  oyster,  and  true 
as  a  compass.  Chuff  may  keep  his  appointment,  or 
he  may  not.  If  the  real  Kit's  turned  up  and  told  the 
truth,  perhaps  he  won't  dare,  for  fear  of  a  trap. 
Still,  he  may,  if  he's  got  pluck,  and  a  good  disguise — 
or  if  the  police  have  nothing  'on'  him.  The  gang 
won't  want  the  false  Kit  to  get  away  with  what  she 
knows  if  the  real  one's  true  to  them.  And  they'll  be 
eager  to  see  whom  they're  up  against.  That's  why 
I  should  like  to  have  Denham — the  detective — on  the 
spot." 

"Would  that  be  the  best  way  to  get  the  pearls?" 
asked  Clo. 

"Can  you  suggest  a  better  one?" 

"Not  on  the  spur  of  the  moment." 

"It's  on  the  spur  of  the  moment  we  must  decide." 

"Well— 'phone  Denham." 

"I  will,"  said  O'Reilly.  "I  think  I  ought  to  get 
him  now  unless  he's  on  some  job.  I'll  be  back  in  a 
few  minutes.  There's  no  danger  of  serious  trouble 
for  you  here." 

"I'm  used  to  taking  care  of  myself,"  said  Clo. 
The  hot,  strong  coffee  had  brought  a  faint  colour 
to  her  face,  and  she  looked  up  with  one  of  those 
"cheeky"  grins  of  hers,  such  as  his  "cousin"  had 
given  him  at  the  Dietz.  O'Reilly  went  away  be- 
witched with  the  creature,  absorbed  in  her.  She 
had  done  so  much  for  the  love  of  a  woman.  What 
would  she  do  for  love  of  a  man? 

He  had  to  go  upstairs  to  the  telephone,  it  seemed, 


212  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

at  Krantz's.     Then   the  line  was  busy.     He  was 
obliged  to  wait. 

Meanwhile  a  tall  girl,  in  a  bright  pink  cloak  over 
a  pink  dress,  hurried  through  the  gloomy  restaurant. 
She  paused  only  to  glance  at  a  clock  on  the  wall,  and 
then  ran  downstairs  to  the  "Keller." 


XXVI 
THE  GIRL  IN  PINK 

CLO  sat  watching  the  crowd.  She  had  removed 
her  veil,  and  the  long,  brown  cloak  lent  by  Beverley. 
The  latter  she  had  folded,  and  was  sitting  upon  it. 

It  was  then,  when  most  of  the  tables  were  taken, 
and  when  a  young  tenor  with  a  good  voice  had  re- 
placed the  Italian  peasants,  that  the  girl  in  pink 
walked  in.  Clo  sat  with  her  face  to  the  entrance, 
and  happened  to  be  looking  that  way.  At  sight  of 
the  girl,  who  came  in  alone,  it  was  all  she  could  do  to 
sit  still.  She  felt  the  blood  stream  to  her  face,  and 
taking  up  the  empty  coffee  cup,  pretended  to  drink. 

"Gracious,  why  did  I  never  think  of  her!"  she 
wondered.  For  this  was  the  girl  who  had  got  out 
of  the  elevator  at  the  Westmorland,  and  had  been 
stared  at  by  the  men,  when  Clo  and  Beverley  de- 
scended the  stairs  from  Peterson's  room.  Would 
there  have  been  time  after  they  had  turned  their 
backs  for  Kit  to  get  out  of  the  brown  trunk  (if  she'd 
been  in  it!),  fasten  the  lid,  and  descend  to  the  lift 
while  the  two  women  went  down  the  six  flights  of 
stairs? 

Yes,  there  would  have  been  time.  Clo  was  thank- 
ful that  she  had  disposed  of  her  veil,  and  was  sitting 
on  the  cloak.  Here  at  Krantz's  she  was  only  a  girl 

213 


214  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

in  a  white  dress,  with  a  brown  toque  which  at  the 
Westmorland  had  been  hidden  with  a  veil. 

There  were  two  or  three  tables  still  disengaged, 
but  the  one  with  the  best  view  of  the  stage  was  the 
one  nearest  Clo.  The  girl  in  pink  tripped  to  it,  with- 
out hesitation,  stood  for  a  minute  staring  at  the 
singer,  and  sat  down.  Clo  watched  her.  She  could 
not  be  certain,  but  she  thought  the  girl  had  caught 
the  eye  of  the  singer  and  had  made  him  a  sign. 

Not  only  had  he  a  good  voice,  but  he  was  good  to 
look  at,  dark  and  rather  "dashing,"  "almost  like  a 
second-hand  gentleman,"  as  Clo  said  to  herself.  His 
song  pleased  the  audience,  who  clapped  violently,  de- 
manding another.  But  the  young  man  smiled,  threw 
out  his  hands,  shrugged,  touched  his  throat,  and 
bowed  himself  off  the  stage.  By  this  time  the  girl 
in  pink  had  ordered  a  bottle  of  wine  which,  to  judge 
by  the  loving  care  of  the  waiter,  must  have  been 
rare  and  expensive. 

The  singer  sat  down  with  his  back  to  Clo,  his 
companion  at  his  side.  Thus  they  were  able  to 
draw  close,  and  talk  without  much  fear  of  being 
overheard. 

"Good  Lord,  Churn,  I  thought  I'd  missed  you," 
were  the  first  words  Clo  caught.  As  the  girl  spoke 
she  flung  a  quick  glance  toward  her  little  neighbour 
at  the  next  table,  but  Clo  had  never  looked  so  child- 
like. "I  went  to  the  Riche,  and  you'd  gone,"  Kit 
continued.  "To  the  Western;  too  late.  Gosh! 
how  I  hiked  for  this  place!  I  don't  know  what  I'd 
done  if  I'd  lost  you!" 


THE  GIRL  IN  PINK  215 

"Vot's  de  row?"  Churn  asked  cheerfully,  speak- 
ing with  a  slight  and  rather  agreeable  foreign  accent. 
He  poured  himself  a  tumblerful  of  the  deep-coloured 
red  wine,  and  drank  as  if  it  were  water. 

"Say,  Churn,  a  big  thing's  happened.  I  can't 
tell  you  here." 

"You  want  I  take  you  to  de  hotel?" 

"No!  I'm  never  goin'  back  there.  And  I  can't 
go  to  my  own  digs  either.  I'll  explain  by  and  by. 
Could  you  take  me  home  with  you?" 

"No,  Jake'll  be  comin'  in." 

"Well,  let's  go  to  Chuff's.  We  must  be  some- 
where! I've  got  a  thing  to  show  you,  Churn.  If 
there's  two  rooms  free  in  the  house  we'll  take  'em 
— or,  no,  better  take  one.  You'll  see  why  we  must 
be  together  when  you  know.  Say,  here's  money  to 
pay  the  wine — looks  better  for  you  than  me.  Then 
we'll  be  off." 

Clo  gazed  at  the  door.  No  O'Reilly  yet.  But  if 
this  pair  went  she  would  have  to  go,  too.  She  mustn't 
lose  them! 

Churn  beckoned  a  waiter  with  a  ten-dollar  bill 
thrust  into  his  hand  by  Kit.  The  waiter  came;  but 
he  had  to  get  change.  In  Clo's  lap,  hidden  under 
her  napkin,  was  the  bag  she  had  found  in  Kit's  room. 
Stealthily  she  opened  it  and  took  out  a  stub  of  pencil 
she  had  noticed  among  the  contents.  On  the  table 
lay  a  programme  of  the  evening's  entertainment. 
Neither  she  nor  O'Reilly  had  glanced  at  it;  but  now 
the  girl  eagerly  examined  the  list.  Among  the  names 
was  that  of  "Lorenz  Czerny,  Tenor";  and  Clo  under- 


216  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

lined  it  with  the  pencil.  Beneath,  on  the  margin, 
she  scrawled:  "Kit's  come  and  has  been  talking  to 
him.  They're  going  away.  I  must  follow.  I  leave 
you  all  materials  for  the  search — except  the  pearl.  I 
keep  that.  Don't  worry  about  me.  I'll  take  care 
of  myself." 

Clo  had  plenty  of  money,  supplied  by  Beverley, 
so  a  five-dollar  bill  was  laid  conspicuously  on  the 
crumbs  of  rusk. 

Kit  and  Churn  were  on  their  feet.  The  waiter 
had  given  change,  and  Churn  was  counting  it  out. 
Both  stood  with  their  backs  to  Clo.  Clo  slipped  the 
programme  into  the  bead  bag  and  the  bead  bag  into  a 
pocket  of  Beverley's  brown  silk  coat,  on  which  she 
had  been  sitting.  She  then  whisked  the  folded  gar- 
ment from  her  own  chair  on  to  O'Reilly's,  and  cov- 
ered it  with  his  napkin. 

"I  hope  to  goodness  I'll  meet  him  on  the  way  up," 
she  thought,  "or  before  I  get  out  of  the  restaurant 
above.  I  daren't  take  the  cloak  where  she  might 
see  it.  Besides,  he  must  have  the  bag  and  memo- 
randum." 

Churn  gave  the  waiter  a  fifty-cent  piece,  and 
followed  Kit,  who  had  started.  Neither  looked  back ; 
and  Clo  beckoned  the  waiter.  "I've  an  engage- 
ment," she  said,  "and  can't  wait  longer  for  the 
gentleman  I  came  with.  He's  upstairs  telephon- 
ing. You  tell  him  I've  paid.  Never  mind  the 
change.  I'm  leaving  my  coat  for  the  gentleman  to 
bring  home.  Can  I  trust  you  to  be  sure  and  give 
it  to  him?" 


THE  GIRL  IN  PINK  217 

"You  can,  miss,"  said  the  man.  "I'll  take  charge 
of  it  myself." 

He  looked  trustworthy  as  well  as  grateful.  Kit 
and  Churn  were  winding  their  way  among  the  tables. 
Clo  pushed  after  them.  O'Reilly  was  not  on  the 
stairs,  nor  was  he  visible  in  the  dull  restaurant  above. 
He  had  the  all-important  envelope,  it  was  true,  and 
she  could  not  guess  who  had  returned  it  in  a  way  to 
make  him  suppose  it  came  from  her.  O'Reilly 
was,  however,  an  honourable  man,  and  he  had  prom- 
ised to  be  "on  Mrs.  Sands'  side."  In  the  circum- 
stances she  saw  only  one  course,  and  regretfully,  even 
fearfully,  took  it.  When  Kit  and  Churn  walked  out 
into  the  street  she  walked  after  them,  a  few  paces 
behind. 

Clo  had  been  gone  precisely  four  minutes  when 
O'Reilly  tore  downstairs  burning  to  apologize  and  ex- 
plain. Mrs.  Denham  had  said  that  her  husband  was 
out,  but  she  knew  where  he  was,  and  would  'phone; 
if  he — O'Reilly — would  hold  the  line  she'd  have  an 
answer  "in  no  time."  Presently  he  had  been  re- 
warded by  "getting"  Denham,  who,  on  hearing  that 
he  was  urgently  wanted,  promised  to  cut  short  some 
work  he  was  doing  late  at  the  office,  and  taxi  to 
Krantz's.  This  was  good  news,  and  O'Reilly  was  sure 
Clo  would  think  it  had  been  worth  waiting  for.  He 
could  not  believe  his  eyes  when  he  saw  the  deserted 
table.  What  could  have  happened  to  the  girl? 

He  stood  forlornly  for  a  moment,  staring  round 
the  room.  As  his  eyes  searched  vainly,  the  waiter, 
who  had  served  him  came  hurrying  up. 


218  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

"The  young  lady's  gone,  sare.  She  had  to  go — 
very  sorry.  She  left  me  dis  to  give  you  when  you 
come  back.  She  pay  de  bill,  sare,  but  I  keep  de  table 
for  you.  You  not  finish  your  supper." 

O'Reilly  had  a  stab  of  violent  resentment  against 
Clo.  But  the  thought  had  only  to  pass  through  his 
brain  to  be  rejected.  The  girl  was  a  strange  girl, 
audacious  and  unscrupulous  in  her  loyalty  to  Mrs. 
Sands;  but  she  could  not  have  told  her  story  in  a  way 
to  impress  its  truth  upon  him  unless  she  had  been 
sincere. 

"The  young  lady  didn't  give  you  any  other  mes- 
sage?" he  asked. 

"No,  sare.  She  was  in  much  hurry.  But  I  see 
her  mark  on  a  piece  of  paper,"  the  waiter  replied. 
"Maybe  she  write  you  a  note." 

O'Reilly  reflected.  Which  should  he  do,  look  for 
a  message  in  the  pocket  of  the  coat  Clo  had  left,  or 
dash  upstairs  and  find  out  which  way  she  had  gone? 
It  was  almost  certain  that  he  would  now  gain  noth- 
ing by  the  latter  course. 

O'Reilly  sat  down  at  the  table,  in  the  chair  where 
he  had  sat  before.  He  found  the  one  pocket  in  the 
brown  coat,  and  in  that  pocket  Kit's  jet  and  steel 
bag.  There  was  nothing  else  there,  so  he  opened  the 
bag  cautiously  in  case  some  of  Kit's  friends  had 
arrived.  As  he  did  so,  the  folded  programme  drop- 
ped out. 


XXVII 
WHEN  BEVERLEY  CAME  HOME 

WHEN  Clo  had  shut  the  taxi  door  almost  in  Bever- 
ley's  face,  and  had  given  the  chauffeur  orders  to  drive 
on,  she  had  said  to  herself,  "Angel  will  be  so  surprised 
she  won't  know  what  to  do  for  a  minute.  And  by 
the  time  she  pulls  herself  together,  she'll  realize  it's 
too  late  to  stop  me." 

The  girl  had  judged  well.  Beverley  shrank  back 
from  the  slammed  door  with  a  jump  of  the  nerves. 
Then  she  guessed  what  Clo  meant  to  do.  She  was 
in  the  act  of  tapping  to  stop  the  chauffeur,  and  tell 
him  to  turn,  when  the  question  seemed  to  ask  itself 
aloud  in  her  brain,  "What  good  will  it  do  for  you  to 
go  back?" 

Before  she  could  reach  Clo,  if  she  returned  to 
the  hotel  now,  the  girl  would  have  learned  the 
secret  of  Peterson's  room.  When  she  saw  what 
Beverley  had  seen,  she  would  know  that  there  was 
nothing  to  be  done  with  a  dead  man.  She  would 
slip  away  to  avoid  being  mixed  up  in  the  business  of 
the  murder.  She  would  not  risk  being  caught.  The 
girl  was  too  sensible,  and  she  had  plenty  of  money 
as  well  as  brains.  She  had  shown  herself  equal  to 
desperate  emergencies.  She  would  be  equal  to  this. 
She  was  so  quick-witted  that  she  would  know  what 

219 


220  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

to  do,  and  how  to  do  it.  Beverley  let  the  chauffeur 
drive  on.  He  went  to  the  corner  where  he  had  been 
hailed  by  his  two  passengers.  There  he  stopped,  and 
Beverley  got  out.  She  paid  him;  and  making  a 
pretence  of  examining  her  change  in  the  light  of  a 
street  lamp,  stood  still  until  the  taxi  had  turned  and 
shot  out  of  sight.  Then,  with  the  bag  of  jewels 
which  Clo  had  tossed  into  her  lap,  she  walked  home. 
Her  latch-key  opened  the  door  of  the  flat,  she  entered 
her  boudoir,  and  fell  into  a  chair,  sitting  as  still  as  the 
dead  Peterson  had  sat.  It  was  not  much  past  ten 
o'clock. 

Five  minutes  later  she  took  off  hat  and  cloak,  and 
peeped  into  her  bedroom  to  see  if  her  maid  were  there. 
But  the  room  was  empty,  and  she  put  away  the 
gray  mantle  and  toque  where  she  had  found  them. 
She  did  not  forget  to  toss  carelessly  upon  her  bed  the 
hat  she  had  worn  in  the  afternoon,  and  a  pair  of 
white  gloves;  then  she  rang  for  her  maid  who  came 
almost  at  once.  She  had  gone  out,  Beverley  ex- 
plained quietly,  to  help  Miss  Riley  transact  a  little 
matter  of  business. 

It  was  eleven-thirty  when  Leontine  bade  her  mis- 
tress good-night  and  softly  closed  the  bedroom  door. 
She  had  noticed  nothing  strange  in  the  manner  of 
Madame,  except  an  unusual  lack  of  vitality. 

Left  alone,  Beverley  opened  the  door  of  the  big, 
bare  room.  "Clo,"  she  called  softly. 

No  answer.  She  switched  on  the  light.  No  one 
was  there,  and  Beverley  hurried  on  to  the  little  room 
beyond,  which  had  been  Sister  Lake's.  It,  too,  was 


empty.  Something  grave,  perhaps  terrible,  had 
detained  the  girl. 

"She  won't  come — she  won't  come  at  all."  Bever- 
ley  said  aloud.  "What  shall  I  do?"  She  could  not 
abandon  the  fragile  child  who  loved  her,  who  had 
stood  by  her  with  wonderful  strength  and  courage 
throughout  this  dreadful  day.  Yet  what  was  there 
she  could  do? 

Roger  returned  about  one  o'clock.  He  moved 
quietly,  as  if  in  order  not  to  disturb  his  wife,  but  she 
heard  the  cautious  closing  of  his  door.  She  did  not 
try  or  wish  to  sleep,  but  lay  on  her  bed,  waiting  for 
day. 

After  six  o'clock  Beverley  could  lie  still  no  longer. 
She  stole  into  her  bathroom,  and  bathed  in  cold 
water.  But  she  felt  as  utterly  spent  after  her  bath 
as  before. 

This  morning  she  did  penance  by  putting  on  a 
tailor-made,  white  linen  suit,  of  a  slightly  severe  cut, 
and  made  her  toilet  without  ringing  for  Leontine. 
She  decided  to  breakfast  at  the  customary  hour  and 
in  the  customary  place,  but  she  did  not  expect  to 
be  joined  by  Roger.  She  was  still  in  her  bedroom, 
fastening  a  brooch,  when  he  tapped  at  her  door. 

"Come  in!"  she  cried,  eager  for  the  meeting,  yet 
sick  with  fear.  Roger  came  in,  fully  dressed,  look- 
ing cool  and  well  groomed.  To  Beverley's  sad  heart 
it  seemed  that  he  had  never  been  so  handsome — or 
so  hard. 

"Good  morning,"  he  said,  as  he  might  have 
spoken  to  any  friend.  "I  heard  you  stirring  about, 


222  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

so  I  thought  I  might  knock.  Are  you  going  out 
early?"  as  his  eyes  wandered  over  her  dress. 

"You  mean  because  I'm  dressed?  No,  I  didn't 
think  of  it.  I  couldn't  sleep.  The  night  was  hot, 
and  the  heat  was  on  my  nerves,  I  suppose,  so  I  got 
up  at  six.  I  hope  I  didn't  disturb  you,  Roger?" 

"Not  at  all,"  he  politely  replied.  "I've  some 
business  which  will  take  me  out  half  an  hour  sooner 
than  usual.  I  suppose  they  can  give  us  breakfast 
in  time  for  that?  Coffee  and  toast  and  grape  fruit 
can't  take  long  to  make  ready?" 

'Til  ring  for  breakfast.    I  didn't  know  if " 

"Didn't  know — what?"  he  caught  up  her  sentence 
as  it  broke. 

"Oh,  nothing — important,"  she  excused  herself. 
Yet  she  was  sure  he  knew  what  had  stopped  her  short 
of  saying  that  she  didn't  know  if  he  would  breakfast 
with  her  in  the  boudoir. 

"Well,  I  daresay  Johnson  has  put  the  newspapers 
in  their  place  by  this  time,"  Roger  said,  ignoring  her 
embarrassment.  "I'll  have  a  look,  to  save  time. 
You'll  come  when  you're  ready?  I've  a  suggestion 
to  make  that  I  think  you'll  like." 

He  spoke  pleasantly,  not  at  all  as  if  he  had  a  grudge 
against  his  wife.  Many  women  would  have  been 
satisfied  with  such  a  manner;  but  Beverley  was  not 
of  the  "many  women,"  and  Roger  had  never  been  like 
other,  ordinary  husbands.  For  the  first  morning 
since  that  day  in  Chicago  when  he  had  asked  her  to 
be  his  wife,  they  had  not  kissed. 

"It  will  always  be  like  this  from  now  on,"  she  told 


WHEN  BEVERLEY  CAME  HOME     223 

herself.  "I  hope  I  shall  die.  I  can't  live  without 
his  love,  and  go  on  seeing  him  every  day!" 

Roger  had  not  mentioned  Clo,  and  Beverley  held 
her  peace.  She  thought  it  would  be  best  to  wait  and 
see  what  the  newspapers  said.  At  the  end  of  ten  min- 
utes, as  the  breakfast  tray  was  being  placed  on  the 
lace  table  cover,  she  strolled  into  the  boudoir.  Roger 
hardly  looked  up,  feigning  to  be  deeply  interested  in 
his  paper.  On  other  mornings — the  servant  being 
out  of  the  room — he  would  have  sprung  from  his 
chair  to  place  hers,  and  perhaps  to  kiss  the  long 
braid  of  her  golden  brown  hair,  or  the  back  of  her 
white  neck  as  it  showed  under  her  fetching  little 
cap. 

"Any  exciting  news?"  she  asked  in  a  casual  tone, 
as  she  sat  down — the  sort  of  tone  which  other  wives 
perhaps  use  to  other  husbands. 

"Nothing  that  interests  us  specially,"  Roger 
answered.  "A  rather  sordid  murder,  at  a  third-rate 
hotel;  there's  a  mystery,  of  course." 

"What  hotel?"  Beverley  ventured  to  ask,  pouring 
coffee  with  a  hand  that  would  shake. 

"One  I  never  heard  of  before.  Let  me  see,  what's 
the  name?  Oh,  the  'Westmorland.'  You'll  not  be 
interested.  Let's  get  to  the  thing  I  want  to  talk 
about.  Can  you  guess  what  it  is?" 

Beverley  shook  her  head.     "I  am  a  bad  guesser." 

"It's  partly  about  your  pearls.  By  the  by,  was 
the  pearl-stringer  satisfactory?' 

"Oh,  quite,"  Beverley  murmured,  sipping  her 
coffee. 


THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

"I'm  glad  she  made  a  good  job.  The  rope  looks 
as  fine  as  if  no  accident  had  happened,  I  suppose?  " 

"It's  a — wonderful  rope,"  his  wife  managed  to 
reply. 

"I  imagined  you'd  be  wearing  your  gewgaws  for 
breakfast  this  morning  just  to  show  they  were  all 
right!"  Roger's  eyes  smiled  coolly  into  hers.  It 
was  a  cruel  smile. 

"A  rope  of  pearls  at  breakfast — on  a  tailor  gown 
of  linen — and  a  queen's  pearls  at  that!  What  bad 
taste!  I  shall  wear  these  splendours  only  on  the 
greatest  occasions." 

"Well,  I've  arranged  a  great  occasion,"  said  Roger. 
**  That's  principally  what  I  want  to  talk  about.  I'd 
like  you  to  send  out  invitations  for  a  house  party  and 
a  big  dinner  and  dance  directly  after  we're  settled 
in  the  Newport  cottage.  And  I'd  like  to  move  there 
sooner  than  we  meant.  I've  decided  to  take  a  few 
weeks'  holiday.  We'll  both  be  better  out  of  the 
city." 

"Oh,  yes!"  Beverley  agreed. 

"And  I  want  you  to  do  a  thing  to  please  me. 
Wear  the  queen's  pearls — your  pearls — on  the  night 
of  the  dinner  and  dance." 


xxvm 

MR.  JONES  OF  PEORIA 

O'REILLY  had  only  just  finished  reading  Clo's  note, 
had  folded  it  up,  and  put  it  in  his  pocket  when  he  was 
joined  by  a  man  at  whom,  for  a  second,  he  stared  as 
at  a  stranger.  Then  a  slight  contraction  of  the  new- 
comer's eyelid  and  a  twinkle  in  his  eye  enlightened 
Justin. 

"Well,  this  is  good,  meeting  you!"  exploded  a 
jolly  voice.  "I  hoped  you  hadn't  forgotten  poor  old 
Dick  Jones,  though  it's  a  long  time  since  you  blew  out 
our  way  to  Peoria.  I'm  here  in  little  old  New  York, 
seeing  the  sights." 

"Why,  of  course,  I  remember  you  very  well,  Mr. 
Jones,"  said  O'Reilly.  "Sit  down  at  my  table,  do. 
What'll  you  have,  in  memory  of  old  times?" 

As  he  spoke,  he  took  in  the  extraordinary  changes 
Mr.  William  J.  Denham  had  made  in  his  personal 
appearance.  Denham  was  a  slender,  youngish  man, 
neat  and  dapper,  with  light  brown  hair,  a  smooth  face, 
and  pale  skin.  Jones  had  reddish,  rumpled  eye- 
brows, puffy  pink  lids,  and  large,  roving  eyes  behind 
convex  glasses.  His  hair  was  also  red  and  rumpled, 
and  though  he  was  not  enormously  stout,  he  was 
clumsily  built,  with  a  decided  paunch. 

When  he  had  sat  down  at  O'Reilly's  table,  the 

225 


226  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

absence  of  near  neighbours  and  the  momentary  in- 
attention of  waiters  gave  the  two  men  a  chance  to 
speak  freely.  "You  sent  a  hurry  call.  Something 
up  at  Krantz's  this  peaceful  Sabbath?" 

"There's  more  up  than  I  want  to  come  out,"  said 
O'Reilly.  "Things  have  changed  since  I  'phoned, 
but  there's  more  need  of  you  than  ever.  The  girl 
I  wanted  to  help  was  with  me.  While  I  talked  to 
you,  she  disappeared.  .  .  ." 

"Disappeared!" 

"Yes.  I  couldn't  follow,  because  when  I  knew 
what  had  happened  it  was  too  late  to  get  on  her  track; 
otherwise  you'd  have  found  me  flown.  I'd  have 
sacrificed  you  for  her,  if  there'd  been  even  a  sporting 
chance.  But  I  didn't  see  one.  Maybe  you  will, 
when  I  put  you  wise :  or  somebody  may  show  up  whose 
face  will  give  you  a  tip.  I'll  tell  you  what  I  know — 
except  the  name  of  a  lady  which  mustn't  come  into 
the  business  even  with  discretion  incarnate  like  you." 

"Reservations  often  spoil  jobs,"  said  Denham. 

"Mine  won't." 

The  coming  of  a  waiter  broke  the  conversation. 

"Anybody  interesting  here?"  asked  Justin,  when 
the  waiter  had  gone. 

"No  familiar  faces.     But  there  may  be,  later." 

O'Reilly  shook  his  head.  "It's  a  quarter  to 
twelve.  The  man  or  men  who  made  an  appoint- 
ment— not  with  me;  with  the  girl  who's  gone — should 
have  turned  up  at  eleven-thirty." 

"If  they're  sure  of  themselves — sure  their  faces 
aren't  known — they're  probably  here,"  remarked 


MR.  JONES  OF  PEORIA  227 

Denham.  "But  out  with  your  story.  A  lot  may 
hang  on  that." 

"A  lot  does,"  said  O'Reilly;  and  told  it.  He 
omitted  no  detail  given  by  Clo  except  such  as  led  too 
close  to  Mrs.  Sands.  O'Reilly  hardly  disguised  the 
fact  that  the  crime  and  its  punishment  were  of  slight 
importance  to  him  compared  with  the  finding  of  Clo 
Riley.  "I  don't  want  her  mixed  up  in  this  murder 
business,"  he  finished,  "and  she  doesn't  want  to  be 
mixed  up  in  it,  not  for  her  own  sake,  but  because 
of  the  woman  she's  protecting.  You  could  get  the 
name  of  that  woman,  but  I  ask  you  not  to  concern 
yourself  with  it." 

"Right  you  are,"  Denham  reassured  him.  "I've 
got  enough  to  do  without  meddling  in  other  folks' 
business.  The  lady  outside  the  case  doesn't  exist. 
But  as  for  'Churn'  being  Lorenz  Czerny,  it  doesn't 
go  without  saying  that  we  shall  spot  Chuff  and  Jake, 
and  the  rest  of  the  gang  through  him.  That  will  de- 
pend on  himself,  and  his  Moll — Kit.  I  wouldn't 
mind  offering  your  young  lady  a  good  place  and  good 
pay  when  this  mix-up  comes  to  an  end." 

"I  do  not  believe  she'll  be  looking  for  work," 
said  O'Reilly. 

"This  Kit  must  be  pretty  sharp,  too.  It  looks 
as  if  Churn  was  her  'steady.'  If  she  did  the  job  at 
the  Westmorland,  it  was  to  set  him  and  her  up  in 
housekeeping,  later  on,  well  away  from  Chuff  and 
Co.  Looks  as  if  Kit  had  been  used  for  a  catspaw, 
and  maybe  hadn't  got  enough  out  of  the  job  for  her- 
self. Suddenly  she  saw  a  whole  dazzling  lot.  I  can't 


228  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

get  on  to  who  this  Kit  is  yet.  But  maybe  I  will. 
Your  little  friend  does  shoot  quick — and  low." 

"She  does,"  said  O'Reilly.  "But  she  doesn't  hit 
below  the  belt." 

"Folks  like  Kit  and  Churn  and  Chuff  haven't  got 
belts,"  said  Denham. 

O'Reilly  laughed  again.  But  he  wanted  Clo. 
She  was  made  for  him — the  demon,  the  darling,  the 
only  girl  he  had  ever  seriously  desired.  He  hadn't 
known  that  she  existed  till  to-night,  when  she'd  begun 
their  acquaintance  by  tricking  and  stealing  from  him. 
Though  he  might  laugh,  he  wouldn't  know  a  happy 
moment  till  she  was  safe.  For  an  instant  he  forgot 
Denham  and  the  business  in  hand.  "I  think  she 
likes  me,"  he  told  himself.  "I'll  make  her  like  me 
a  lot  more  when  I  get  half  a  chance." 

"That  couple  will  hide,"  Denham  was  saying. 
"Churn  may  send  word  to  Krantz  that  he  can't  sing; 
he'll  say  he's  sick.  But  I  shan't  do  any  such  thing  as 
put  Krantz  wise  that  his  tenor  is  wanted.  Krantz 
is  a  fox.  Our  hope  is  in  Miss  Riley." 

"You'll  come  to  the  Dietz,  won't  you?"  asked 
O'Reilly. 

"Yes,"  said  the  detective,  finishing  his  cool  beer. 
"I'll  come.  But  I  haven't  got  much  hope  from  what 
may  be  in  that  bead  bag.  People  who  have  things  to 
hide,  "hide  'em  better  than  in  bags.  However,  we'll 
see."  When  Justin  had  paid  for  Denham's  drink, 
they  went,  with  the  bead  bag  in  the  pocket  of  Clo's 
brown  cloak  hanging  over  O'Reilly's  arm.  It  was 
after  midnight. 


XXIX 
ACCORDING  TO  THE  MORNING  PAPERS 

ROGER  had  talked  of  nothing  but  his  plan  for  the 
Newport  house-warming,  after  starting  the  subject; 
and  he  had  told  Beverley  that  they  ought  to  be  able 
to  move  in  a  week.  She  must  make  everything  right 
about  the  servants:  he  would  see  to  outside  arrange- 
ments. And  this  "big  party"  could  take  place  in  a 
fortnight.  It  was  ostentatious  sending  out  invita- 
tions longer  in  advance.  They  must  make  a 
"splash" — worthy  of  the  house — and  the  pearls. 
Beverley  must  think  up  something  original  in  the 
way  of  entertainment — a  surprise.  And  as  he  talked 
it  seemed  to  the  girl  that  his  eyes  never  left  her  face. 
Beverley  promised  to  move  to  Newport  when  Roger 
wished.  She  promised  to  write  the  invitations,  and — 
she  promised  to  wear  the  queen's  pearls. 

At  last  Roger  went,  without  having  alluded  to 
Clodagh  Riley.  Whether  this  were  deliberate,  or 
careless,  Beverley  could  not  guess.  But  she  was 
thankful. 

The  instant  Roger  had  gone  Beverley  seized  the 
paper  he  had  dropped,  and  found  what  she  wanted. 
"Mysterious  Murder  at  Hotel  Westmorland"  was 
the  heading  at  the  top  of  a  column  on  the  first  page. 
She  sat  down  and  read  the  whole  report. 

229 


230  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

That  day  was  among  the  most  terrible  of  Bever- 
ley's  chequered  life.  She  had  had  several  engage- 
ments, but  she  telephoned  to  put  them  off.  Not 
for  anything  would  she  have  left  the  house,  for  she 
hoped  to  have  a  message  from  Clo.  She  feared  to 
hear  also  from  one  whom  Peterson  served,  but  it  was 
best  that  she  should  be  at  home  if  such  a  message 
arrived. 

"Have  they  kept  their  word?  Have  they  killed 
Stephen  because  I  didn't  send  back  the  papers?"  she 
constantly  asked  herself.  "What  will  they  do  next? 
Will  they  advertise  again  in  the  newspapers?  Will 
they  telephone?  Will  they  send  another  man,  now 
Peterson  is  dead?  Or  if  not,  how  will  they  reach  me? 
Surely  they  won't  leave  me  in  peace  for  long!" 

The  day  passed  with  outward  monotony.  It  was 
only  within  herself  that  each  moment  was  different 
from  every  other. 

When  evening  came  at  last,  nothing  had  happened, 
yet  Beverley's  nerves  were  jarred  as  if  by  a  suc- 
cession of  shocks.  As  Leontine  dressed  her  for  din- 
ner, a  sharp  tap  at  the  door  made  her  jump  and  cry 
out.  "A  special-delivery  letter  for  me,  Madame," 
announced  the  Frenchwoman.  "Have  I  Madame's 
permission?  It  is  strange  I  do  not  know  the  hand. 
It  is  but  a  common  yellow  envelope,  addressed  in 
pencil,  to  Mademoiselle  Leontine  Rossignol — per- 
haps from  someone  who  begs.  Never  have  I  re- 
ceived a  letter  by  special  delivery ! " 

"You'd  better  open  it,"  said  Beverley,  relieved 
that  the  letter  was  not  for  her. 


ACCORDING  TO  MORNING  PAPERS    231 

"Rossignol  is  so  odd  a  name,  Madame,  that  every- 
one remembers,  because  it  means  nightingale,"  said 
Leontine,  gingerly  tearing  off  an  end  of  the  flimsy 
yellow  envelope. 

Then,  suddenly  she  cried  out.  "But  Madame,  the 
letter  is  from  Mademoiselle  Riley !  I  do  not  see  why 
she  writes  to  me.  I  understand  nothing  of  what  she 
says  Will  Madame  read?" 

Hiding  eagerness,  Beverley  took  the  half  sheet  of 
commercial  paper. 

The  letter  began: 

DEAR  LEONTINE: 

I  am  safe  in  my  new  home,  and  there's  no  need  to  worry.  I 
am  picking  up  all  that  I  have  lost.  I  hope  to  call  on  you  be- 
fore long  and  show  what  good  progress  I  have  made.  With 
grateful  messages  for  Madame,  from  her  devoted  little  servant, 
and  kind  remembrance  to  you — I  am,  faithfully  yours, 

CLODAGH  RILEY. 

P.S. — If  possible  I  should  like  Mr.  O'R.  to  hear  that  I  am  doing 
well.  He  has  been  land  since  you  saw  me  last. 

There  was  no  date  and  no  address  on  this  letter, 
which  filled  only  one  page. 

Beverley's  bewilderment  passed  as  she  studied  the 
letter.  Clo's  underlying  motives  came  to  the  surface 
with  a  flash. 

"I  suppose,"  she  explained  quietly,  "that  Ma- 
demoiselle fancied  it  would  be  a  liberty  to  write  to 
me.  I'm  glad  to  hear  from  her  so  soon.  As  the 
letter  is  really  for  me,  perhaps  I'd  better  keep  it." 

"Please  do,  madame,"  Leontine  urged,  again  at- 


232  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

tacking  the  tiny  hooks  which  fastened  her  mistress's 
dinner  dress.  "I  noticed  that  Mademoiselle  did 
not  put  the  number  of  the  house  or  street  where 
she  is  staying.  But,  of  course,  Madame  will  know 
both." 

"Of  course,"  echoed  Beverley.  She  guessed  that 
Leontine  must  be  consumed  with  curiosity  as  to  Clo's 
disappearance  and  the  departure  of  Sister  Lake. 

When  Leontine  had  hooked  the  last  hook  Beverley 
went  to  the  boudoir.  There  she  sat  down  with  Clo's 
cryptic  message,  praying  that  Roger  might  not  come 
till  she  had  unravelled  it. 

But,  after  all,  the  meaning  of  one  sentence  after 
another  sprang  quickly  to  her  eyes.  She  had  realized 
at  once  that  Clo  wrote  to  Le'ontine  because  she  dared 
not  use  the  name  of  Mrs.  Sands.  This  suggested  that 
she  was  in  a  house  where  the  name  of  Sands  was  not 
unknown.  Now,  concentrating  upon  the  queer  letter, 
Beverley  understood  each  veiled  hint.  Clo  wished 
her  not  to  "  worry. "  Clo  was  "  picking  up  all  she  had 
lost."  Clo  "hoped  to  call  before  long,  and  show  what 
good  progress"  she  had  made.  All  this  could  have 
only  one  meaning.  And  how  like  Clo,  to  have  treas- 
ured in  some  brain-cell  Leontine's  queer  name  of 
"Rossignol"! 

She  had  written  nothing  to  waken  suspicion;  and 
as  no  house,  no  street,  was  mentioned,  there  need  be 
no  dread  of  discovery  for  guilty  consciences.  Bever- 
ley judged  that  O'Reilly's  name  as  well  as  Roger's 
might  be  known  to  someone  near  to  Clo.  Evidently 
she  was  afraid  to  send  a  letter  to  Justin  O'Reilly. 


ACCORDING  TO  MORNING  PAPERS    233 

But  the  end  of  the  postscript  was  amazing.  O'Reilly 
had  been  kind  to  Clo ! 

"She  went  to  see  him  again!"  was  the  thought 
in  Beverley's  mind.  "Then,  perhaps,  she  didn't  go 
back  to  the  Westmorland.  What  can  *kind'  mean, 
unless  he's  promised  to  help  instead  of  hurt  us?" 

But  she  must  find  out  what  had  happened  last 
between  O'Reilly  and  Clo.  How  should  she  com- 
municate with  him?  Should  she  send  a  note  by 
district  messenger  to  the  Dietz?  Or — should  she 
telephone,  before  Roger  came,  and  learn  all  that  she 
wished  to  know  without  delay?  Quickly  she  decided 
upon  this  bolder  course.  She  called  up  O'Reilly's 
hotel,  and  soon  heard  his  "Hello!" 

"I'm  Mrs.  Sands,"  she  explained.  "I've  a  letter 
from  Clo.  She  sends  you  a  message." 

The  voice  from  the  Dietz  had  sounded  indifferent, 
It  was  so  no  longer. 

"What  news?"  O'Reilly  asked.  "Tell  me  every- 
thing." 

She  told  him,  and  read  Clo's  letter  to  Leontine 
distinctly,  that  he  might  miss  no  word.  "I  under- 
stand why  it  might  be  dangerous  to  put  an  address, 
or  to  write  to  you  or  me,"  Beverley  added.  "But 
it's  frightful  not  to  know  where  she  is.  Explain 
what  you  can  quickly,  because — I'm  expecting  some- 
one." 

"Peterson  stole  your  pearls,"  O'Reilly  answered. 
"He  'phoned  Heron  and  offered  to  sell  them.  He 
must  have  been  hiding  in  your  room  and  overheard 
our  talk.  Later,  I  answered  him  for  Heron.  Miss 


234  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

Riley  was  in  Peterson's  room  then,  and  she  and  I  got 
in  touch.  She  asked  through  the  'phone  if  I'd  help. 
I  said  *Yes,'  and  she  told  me  to  come  with  a  taxi.  I 
picked  her  up  outside  the  hotel,  and  took  her  where 
she  wanted  to  go:  a  restaurant,  Krantz's  Keller. 
When  I'd  heard  what  she  had  to  say  I  proposed  to 
employ  a  private  detective.  Don't  worry;  he's 
absolutely  loyal,  and  I'm  on  your  side,  after  all,  Mrs. 
Sands — I  may  as  well  confess  it's  for  Miss  Riley's 
sake.  She  repented  stealing  the  papers  from  me, 
you  know,  and  sent  them  back  in  the  envelope  just 
as  they  were " 

"Clo  sent  you  the  papers!  You're  mistaken.  I 
know  she  didn't  send  them,"  Beverley  cried.  She  had 
forgotten  her  fear  of  being  overheard,  forgotten  every- 
thing, but  the  sound  of  a  door  closing  caused  her  to 
start.  It  was  a  strange  sound  just  then,  because  both 
doors  had  already  been  shut  when  she  went  to  the  tele- 
phone, the  door  leading  into  her  bedroom,  the  door 
into  the  hall,  and  she  had  heard  neither  open  since. 
Yet  she  could  not  be  mistaken.  Somebody  had  closed 
one  of  those  doors  and  must  previously  have  opened 
it." 

Sick  with  fear,  Beverley  dropped  the  receiver  and 
ran  to  look  into  the  hall.  No  one  was  there.  She 
flew  to  the  door  of  her  bedroom  and  peeped  in.  The 
room  was  empty.  She  rang  for  Johnson,  who  ap- 
peared at  once. 

"Has  Mr.  Sands  come  in?"  she  asked. 

"I  think  not,  Madam,"  the  butler  replied. 

"Go  and  see.     Search  everywhere." 


ACCORDING  TO  MORNING  PAPERS    235 

She  did  not  move  while  the  man  was  away. 

"Mr.  Sands  is  not  in  the  house,  Madam,"  Johnson 
solemnly  announced. 

"Thank  you!"  Beverley  said.  Yet  she  was  not 
relieved.  Something  told  her  that  it  was  Roger  who 
had  shut  the  door. 


XXX 

WHAT  CLO  DID  WITH  A  KNIFE 

WHEN  Kit  and  Churn  left  Krantz's  Keller  they 
walked  fast  along  Fourteenth  Street  till  they  came  to 
Sixth  Avenue.  There  they  appeared  to  hesitate,  as 
if  they  could  not  decide  whether  to  go  up  or  down 
town.  Clo,  as  close  behind  them  as  she  dared  to 
venture,  guessed  instantly  that,  until  now,  they  had 
not  entirely  made  up  their  minds  which  of  several 
hiding-places  it  would  be  safest  for  them  to  seek. 

Judging  by  their  linked  arms,  and  the  nearness  of 
the  two  heads,  their  conversation  was  absorbing. 
They  stopped  at  the  corner,  and  Clo  stopped  also. 
Presently  the  pair  resolved  on  going  down  toward 
Thirteenth  Street.  Clo  went  after  them.  They 
walked  for  several  blocks;  and  the  girl  following 
always  glanced  at  the  number  of  each  street  she 
passed.  There  had  been  an  accident  to  a  taxi,  how- 
ever, in  the  neighbourhood  of  Eleventh  Street,  and  a 
crowd  had  collected.  In  this  crowd  Clo  nearly  lost 
the  quarry.  She  had  a  moment  of  despair,  then 
saw  the  skirt  of  Kit  in  the  distance.  No  longer  was 
she  wearing  a  pink  cloak,  but  a  white  one.  She  must 
have  had  a  chance  to  turn  it  wrong  side  out ! 

So  excited  was  Clo  that  she  forgot  to  notice  the 
streets.  Whether  the  couple  turned  off  the  Avenue 

.236 


WHAT  CLO  DID  237 

into  Tenth,  or  Ninth,  or  Eighth,  she  was  not  sure. 
She  was  certain  only  that  she  was  on  their  track. 
Then  followed  a  chase  across  town.  In  this,  the 
girl  finally  lost  her  head  a  little,  but  when  it  seemed 
that  she  could  drag  herself  no  further,  Kit  and 
Churn  stopped  in  front  of  a  house,  and  rang  the 
bell. 

"Neither  of  them  lives  there,  or  there'd  be  a  latch- 
key!" Clo  thought,  hovering  on  the  other  side  of  the 
street. 

It  was  some  time  before  the  two  were  let  in;  but 
after  a  delay  of  four  or  five  minutes  a  woman  opened 
the  door.  A  dim  gas  light  shone  from  the  hall  or 
lobby,  and  Clo's  impression  was  of  a  dark  brown 
face,  the  face  of  a  negress.  There  was  a  short  dis- 
cussion; then  the  woman  nodded,  stepping  aside  to 
let  Kit  and  Churn  pass.  An  instant  later  the  door 
shut  them  in. 

Clo  stood  gazing  at  the  house.  It  was  one  in  a 
row  of  old-fashioned,  shabby  brick  buildings,  four 
Storeys  in  height.  A  light  showed  in  the  basement, 
but  other  windows  were  black.  Suddenly,  as  Clo 
watched,  a  yellow  gleam  flashed  in  a  fourth-storey 
room  but  at  the  same  moment  a  man  stepped  to  the 
window  and  pulled  down  a  dark  blind.  Clo  thought 
that  this  man  was  Churn. 

"They're  going  to  stay,"  she  argued;  and  crossing 
the  street  at  a  distance  from  the  house,  the  girl  looked 
at  it  with  interest.  There  was  no  street  lamp  near, 
and  she  could  not  see  the  number;  but  there  was  a 
small  plaque  at  the  side  of  the  door,  and  Clo  tripped 


238  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

up  the  steps  to  read  it.  Joy,  the  place  was  a  board- 
ing house! 

The  pair  having  mounted  to  the  fourth  storey,  Clo 
thought  she  might  venture  to  ring.  She  pulled  an 
old-fashioned  bell,  and  her  heart  thumped  in  her 
breast  as  the  shrill  sound  jingled  through  the  house. 

"I  must  have  some  tale  to  tell — why  I'm  here  so 
late,  wanting  a  room,"  she  reflected. 

The  door  was  opened  by  the  woman  who  had  ad- 
mitted Kit  and  Churn.  Not  only  was  she  black, 
but  she  was  fat  and  slovenly.  Staring  at  the  new- 
comer, she  exclaimed  with  a  mouth  full  of  gum: 

"Say,  is  you  another  fren'  o'  Mr.  Cheffinsky?' 

"Chuff!"  was  the  password  that  flashed  through 
Clo's  brain.  "This  is  where  he  lives!"  She  was 
triumphant. 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  Mr.  Cheffinsky," 
she  replied,  "but  I'm  in  a  scrape,  and  a  friend  of 
mine  once  recommended  me  to  this  house.  I  saw 
some  people  come  in,  and  a  light.  It's  still  a  board- 
ing-house, isn't  it?" 

"It  ain't  no  foundlin'  orphant  asylum." 

"I  don't  ask  for  charity.  I've  got  money  to  pay 
my  board.  But  I  don't  want  an  expensive  room. 
One  at  the  top  of  the  house  will  do." 

"Say,  it's  a  real  funny  time  o'  night  for  a  young 
girl  like  you  to  go  lookin'  foh  a  home  to  lay  her  haid," 
remarked  the  negress.  "But  you  can  step  in  the 
hall.  I'll  call  Mis'  MacMahon.  She's  the  lady  o' 
the  house.  We've  got  a  room  upstahs,  but  I  don't 
know  whethah  she'll  let  you  have  it." 


WHAT  CLO  DID  239 

She  allowed  Clo  to  enter,  and  left  the  girl  standing 
as  she  descended  the  basement  stairs. 

"'MacMahon'  sounds  hopeful!"  Clo  thought. 
The  girl  had  lodged  drearily  in  New  York,  but  she 
had  never  been  in  a  house  as  dreary  as  this. 

Mrs.  MacMahon's  look  was  less  inspiring  than  her 
name.  She  was  of  the  big-jowled  type;  a  grim  wo- 
man of  middle  age;  and  her  manner  suggested  suspi- 
cion. But  Clo  began  to  speak  first,  with  her  best 
brogue,  which  she  could  use,  when  needed,  with  great 
effect. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  ma'am,  for  intruding  on  ye 
at  this  time  of  the  night,"  said  the  girl  in  her  cream- 
iest voice,  with  a  childlike  smile,  "but  the  lady  I'm 
maid  for  and  me  had  a  quarrel  about  a  young  man, 
and  rather  than  give  him  up,  I  just  walked  away 
from  the  house,  without  waitin'  to  pack  my  things. 
I've  walked  till  I'm  played  out!  I  tould  yer  maid 
a  friend  o'  mine  had  spoken  o*  Mrs.  MacMahon's 
place  and  I  didn't  forget.  I'll  pay  a  week  in  advance 
if  you'll  take  me  in." 

Whether  Mrs.  MacMahon  believed  these  out- 
pourings was  an  open  question,  but  her  face  softened 
slightly  at  sound  of  the  brogue. 

"Irish,  are  you!"  she  said. 

"Yes,  County  Cork,  and  not  over  since  very  long," 
returned  the  girl. 

"I'm  from  County  Cork,  me  and  me  dead  hus- 
band both,"  volunteered  the  woman.  "I've  been  in 
New  York  these  twelve  years.  Violet  says  you  ast 
for  a  top-floor  room?" 


240  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

"I  did  that,"  said  Clo. 

"Well,  a  top-floor  room  is  the  only  wan  I've  got 
vacant.  How  long  would  ye  be  wanting  it  for?" 

"Oh,  a  few  days,  and  maybe  more." 

"You  can  come  and  have  a  look.  I  don't  boast  of 
the  room.  It's  last  choice.  I  charge  seven  dollars 
with  board." 

"I  don't  mind  seven  dollars,"  said  Clo,  and  fol- 
lowed her  hostess  up  flight  after  flight  of  dimly  lighted 
stairs.  They  were  covered  with  oilcloth,  and  the 
hall  smelled  of  escaping  gas,  but  the  girl  was  almost 
happy.  The  place  was  not  attractive,  but  it  seemed 
decent  enough. 

"It's  a  hall  room,  but  a  front  one,"  explained  Mrs. 
MacMahon,  panting,  as  they  reached  the  top  of  the 
house.  Clo  was  enchanted  to  hear  this,  for  it  meant 
that  the  room  must  adjoin  the  one  where  Churn  had 
pulled  down  the  blind.  She  wondered  if  Churn  were 
married  to  Kit.  Perhaps  she  would  find  out  by  and 

by. 

"There's  a  husband  and  wife  come  into  the  double 
room  next,"  Mrs.  MacMahon  went  on,  when  she  had 
shown  Clo  her  proposed  quarters.  "The  wall's  kind 
of  thin,  for  this  room  was  part  of  the  other  once,  but 
they're  a  quiet  couple,  I  guess:  and  if  you're  quiet, 
too,  you  won't  trouble  each  other.  They're  friends 
of  a  gentleman  boarder  we've  had  for  some  time,  and 
they've  been  here  to  call  on  him,  though  they've  never 
stayed  before.  I  want  'em  to  be  comfortable,  so  stir 
around  as  little  as  you  can  in  the  morning.  I  guess 
they're  the  kind  that  lies  late  in  bed." 


WHAT  CLO  DID  241 

"I  feel  more  as  if  I'd  like  to  lie  in  bed  all  day!" 
sighed  Clo. 

"Well,  sleep  as  much,  as  you  like.  But  don't  be 
scared  if  ye  hear  folks  movin'  later  on  to-night.  The 
friend  of  this  couple  is  out,  but  he  may  come  home 
and  want  to  see  'em." 

Clo  paid  seven  dollars  in  advance  for  the  room, 
and  took  pains  to  show  that  she  had  plenty  of  money. 
She  begged  also  to  buy  or  borrow  a  clean  nightgown, 
and  suggested  that,  if  there  were  a  new  toothbrush 
in  the  house,  she  would  be  glad  to  have  it.  Mrs. 
MacMahon  laughed.  A  nightgown  she  could  lend, 
but  as  for  a  toothbrush,  there  wouldn't  be  one  this 
side  of  the  nearest  drugstore.  Miss  Ryan  (the  name 
Clo  gave)  must  wait  till  next  day. 

"Well,  anyhow,  maybe  you've  a  bit  you'll  give 
me  to  eat!"  the  new  boarder  pleaded.  "I'm  that 
hungry  I  could  bite  off  the  doorknob !  I'll  pay  extra, 
of  course — this  time  of  night.  And  your  coloured 
woman — Violet,  isn't  she? — shall  have  a  couple  of 
dimes  for  bringing  up  the  food." 

Mrs.  MacMahon  softened  and  asked  what  food 
her  guest  desired.  Clo  desired  nothing  so  much  as  a 
knife,  and  made  a  bid  to  secure  one  by  asking  for 
meat.  "Any  old  kind! — and  some  bread  and  milk. 
I'll  give  fifty  cents — "  (she  watched  the  woman's 
eye) — "I  mean,  a  dollar  for  my  supper." 

When  Mrs.  MacMahon  had  gone  the  girl  held  her 
breath  to  listen.  Yes,  the  wall  was  thin !  She  could 
hear  Kit  and  Churn  talking  hi  an  ordinary  tone,  but 
she  could  catch  few  words,  even  when  she  laid  her  ear 


242  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

against  the  dusty  paper.  When  the  voices  sank  low, 
they  reached  her  only  in  an  indistinct  rumble. 

She  guessed  that  the  tiny  room  was  separated 
from  the  larger  one  by  a  partition  of  laths  and 
plaster,  covered  on  each  side  with  flimsy  wall  paper. 
She  could  feel  as  well  as  hear  someone  walking  up 
and  down,  up  and  down,  in  the  next  room!  No 
doubt  it  was  Churn.  Now  and  then  he  would  pause. 
A  piece  of  furniture  would  creak;  then  he  would  jump 
up,  to  begin  walking  again. 

Presently  Violet  appeared,  a  coarse  nightgown 
hanging  over  her  arm,  a  plate  of  bread  and  ham  on  a 
napkinless  tray,  and  glass  of  bluish  milk.  Clo  gave 
the  woman  twenty  cents,  and  promised  the  same 
sum  if  her  breakfast  were  brought  upstairs.  Violet 
agreed  to  this  bargain,  which  was  well  for  the  girl. 
She  would  have  starved  rather  than  desert  her  room 
long  enough  to  eat  while  Churn  and  Kit  remained 
in  their  quarters.  She  surmised  that  they  would  not 
often  go  out. 

Clo  had  told  the  truth  in  pleading  hunger,  but 
when  she  was  alone  and  had  locked  her  door,  she  took 
from  the  tray  only  the  steel  knife  and  fork  which  lay 
beside  the  plate.  Having  pushed  the  cot  bed  away 
from  the  wall,  she  sat  down  on  the  floor,  Turk  fashion. 
Choosing  a  spot  which  would  be  invisible  with  the 
bed  in  place,  she  waited  till  Churn  was  inclined  to 
walk.  Then  she  began  delicately  to  dig  at  the  plas- 
ter with  her  extemporized  tools.  Whenever  Churn 
stopped,  she  stopped  also,  lest  the  rat-like  noise 
should  reach  alert  ears  in  the  next  room.  For  a  long 


WHAT  CLO  DID  243 

time  she  toiled,  cautiously,  slowly,  gathering  up  bits 
of  paper  and  plaster  that  fell,  and  collecting  them 
in  her  lap.  It  was  a  tedious  task,  but  not  difficult. 
In  less  than  an  hour  she  had  made — practically  with- 
out noise — a  hole  the  size  of  a  silver  dollar.  It 
went  through  to  the  lathes;  beyond  that  barrier  her 
tools  were  of  no  avail.  She  needed  a  thin,  sharp 
instrument  like  a  hat-pin,  to  push  between  the  slats 
of  wood.  A  tiny  hole  would  suffice.  But  she  had  no 
hat-pin  in  the  close-fitting  toque  lent  by  Beverley. 
Her  own  was  now  a  souvenir  in  O'Reilly's  possession. 
She  tried  hair-pins,  but  they  bent,  one  after  another. 
Then  she  searched  for  a  nail,  and  found  one  at  last, 
stuck  in  the  wall,  supporting  a  small  mirror.  Care- 
fully she  deposited  this  upon  the  bed  (it  wouldn't  do 
to  break  a  looking  glass !)  and  set  to  work  once  more. 
At  the  end  of  twenty  minutes'  scratching,  she  felt 
resistance  cease  before  the  nail-point.  Hastily  she 
withdrew  it,  lest  it  should  pierce  too  far;  and  stretched 
on  the  floor  she  listened  with  her  ear  to  the  aperture 
on  her  side  of  the  wall. 


XXXI 
THE  NINE  DAYS 

"I  WISH  Chuff  would  come,  and  get  it  over!"  she 
heard  Churn  sigh  aloud,  in  his  sweet,  foreign-sound- 
ing voice. 

"I  wonder  why  he  went  out?"  said  Kit.  "He 
ought  to  have  been  home  all  evening.  He  was  ex- 
pecting Pete  on  business,  you  know." 

"Can  he  have  got  onto  de  reason  dat  fellah  Pete 
didn't  come?" 

"No,  no,"  Kit  answered.  "I've  told  you  a  dozen 
times  no!  He  wouldn't  have  gone  to  the  Westmor- 
land. Pete  had  to  call  on  him.  But  there  must 
have  been  something  important  to  take  Chuff  out." 

" Vat  vasde  plan?" 

"Oh,  what  does  it  matter?  To-night's  changed 
everything  for  me,  and  you,  too.  You  are  goin'  to 
stand  by  me,  aren't  you,  Churn,  through  thick  and 
thin?" 

"You  bettcha  life!  For  de  whole  of  vot  I'm 
vorth!" 

Kit's  tone  changed.  She  chuckled.  "You  may 
be  worth  a  lot.  You've  married  a  rich  heiress.  See?" 

"Sh,  girl!  If  Chuff  comes  spyin*  on  us  we  don't 
vant  him  to  hear  dat  word  'married.'  He'd  only 
laugh — or  vorse." 

244 


THE  NINE  DAYS  245 

"All  right!  But  he  ain't  our  master  any  more. 
We  can  do  without  him." 

"Maybe  he  von't  tink  he  can  do  vidout  us." 

"He'll  have  to,  when  we  get  something  good  on  the 
pearls.  And  say,  I  never  thought  you  could  kill  any 
one  and  feel  no  more  than  I  do  now.  Churn,  if  you'd 
been  there,  you'd  V  settled  his  hash  long  before  I 
did.  The  things  he  said  to  me — and  me  your  wife! 
It  makes  me  sick  to  think  o'  them — and  of  him,  the 
low  beast!" 

"Don't  tink,  den.     Tink  of  me." 

"I  do.  I  love  you,  Boy!  The  minute  I  lamped 
the  pearls — when  I  sensed  they  was  real — I  meant 
to  get  'em,  for  you  and  me  to  set  up  house  far  away 
somewheres  on  our  own.  We  can  go  to  Buenos 
Aires  or  some  place  south,  where  they  love  a  nice 
voice  like  yours,  so  you  won't  feel  wasted.  If  Chuff 
knew  what  we've  got  here  in  this  table  drawer!" 

"Better  tie  'em  up  in  your  handkerchief  again. 
If  Chuff- 

"Oh,  Chuff  nothing!  I  feel  in  my  bones,  now  he's 
so  late,  he  won't  come  home  to-night.  I  don't  care 
what  happens  to  Chuff.  Let's  go  to  bed." 

"No— not  yet.     I  vait." 

"Peterson  thought  he  could  say  what  he  liked  to 
me,  the  pig!"  Kit  went  on.  "Well,  he's  paid. 
His  blood's  on  his  own  head.  Oh,  Churn,  it  was  on 
his  head,  every  sense  o'  the  word!  I  didn't  like  the 
look  of  it — turned  me  sick!  Lucky  my  long  cloak 
was  in  the  room.  See — on  my  dress,  two  stains! 
Boy,  that  trunk  stunt  was  awful.  You've  got  to 


246  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

let  me  go  to  bed  and  sleep,  or  I  believe  I'll  have  hys- 
terics and  yell  the  house  down.  I  thought  I  was 
all  right  since  I  found  you,  but  it's  comin'  on  again, 
that  tremblin'!" 

"Go  to  bed,  den,  girl.     I  vait.     Dat's  easy." 

"I  will.  Just  one  more  look  at  the  pearls — our 
pearls!  But  I  lost  one.  I  heard  it  roll.  It  was  so 
close  to  him  I — I  couldn't " 

"Don't  you  care.  Dere's  a  lot  for  us.  We'll 
count  'em  first  ting  to-morra',  ven  ve  both  feel  like 
ourselves." 

"They  ought  to  fetch  a  king's  ransom,  Boy." 

"Dey  vill  not,  den.  Dere'll  be  all  de  bulls  in 
N'York  after  em.  Joke  on  us,  dough,  if  Chuff  was 
in  de  deal  mit  Pete ! " 

"I'm  sure  he  wasn't — dead  sure." 

Silence  fell.  When  the  pair  spoke  again  it  was  of 
other  things.  At  last  Clo  fell  suddenly  fast  asleep, 
on  the  floor.  She  knew  that  Beverley's  pearls  were 
in  the  next  room.  That  had  to  be  enough  for  the 
night. 

The  girl  slept  till  dawn.  Waking,  she  was  aston- 
ished to  find  herself  on  the  floor,  and  for  an  instant 
could  not  remember  what  had  happened.  But  in  a 
flash  it  all  came  back.  Quickly  she  got  up  and  quietly 
undressed,  putting  on  Mrs.  MacMahon's  immense 
nightgown  before  she  dropped  thankfully  upon  the 
cot  bed.  Clo  did  not  sleep  again,  but  lay  until 
eight  o'clock,  when  her  neighbours  began  to  stir. 
Then  she  listened  once  more  at  the  hole  in  the  wall 


THE  NINE  DAYS  247 

until  she  feared  that  Violet  might  come  with  break- 
fast. The  woman  had  suggested  bringing  it  at  nine, 
and  lest  she  should  wonder  why  the  hungry  girl 
hadn't  supped,  the  milk  had  to  be  hastily  poured 
away  and  the  bread  and  ham  hidden.  The  bed  had 
also  to  be  lifted  into  place  covering  the  hole  in  the 
wall. 

Nothing  of  special  interest  had  been  said  by  Kit 
and  her  husband  since  their  waking,  but  soon  the 
young  woman  began  to  concern  herself  with  the 
subject  of  clothes. 

"I  told  Mrs.  MacMahon  we  expected  our  baggage 
this  morning  from  Brooklyn.  If  it  doesn't  come  it's 
been  stolen — see?  The  old  party  won't  think  wrong 
of  Chuff's  pals.  He's  a  real  family  friend.  Gee, 
all  sorts  of  things  happen  in  a  house  like  this !  Before 
long  we'll  'phone  Isaacs  to  come  along  and  look  at 
the  pearls.  Chuff's  got  a  'phone  in  his  room,  you 
know." 

Clo  knew  also.  She  had  good  reason  to  know, 
and  that  Chuff  had  lent  his  telephone  book  to 
"Jake." 

As  Violet  kicked  on  the  door  (her  hands  being 
occupied  with  the  tray)  Clo  hastily  stuffed  a  hand- 
kerchief into  the  hole  she  had  made  in  the  wall. 
She  feared  that  the  pair  in  the  next  room  might  take 
alarm  at  the  sound  of  voices,  and  therefore  she  cau- 
tiously subdued  her  own.  She  hadn't  slept  well, 
she  answered  Violet's  question.  Her  head  ached, 
and  perhaps  she  might  lie  in  bed  the  rest  of  the  day. 
The  promised  reward  was  given,  and  more  offered  if 


248  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

Violet  would  find  time  to  buy  toilet  articles,  and  a  few 
clothes.  She  was  begged  to  bring  writing  paper  also; 
there  might  be  a  letter  to  send  by  express  delivery. 

The  coffee,  though  weak,  was  hot,  and  Clo  felt 
revived  after  drinking  it.  Once  more  she  placed  the 
bed  across  the  door,  pulled  out  the  handkerchief 
"gag"  from  the  hole  in  the  wall,  and  thus,  on  sen- 
tinel duty,  finished  her  breakfast. 

Later  in  the  day  the  couple  next  door  resigned 
themselves  to  the  indefinite  absence  of  Chuff.  "  Mrs. 
Mac"  herself  came  up  to  see  her  guests,  who  called 
themselves  Mr.  and  MJS.  Stahl.  The  landlady  talked 
of  Mr.  Cheffinsky  as  her  "star  boarder,"  and  said 
that  she  was  used  to  his  "queer  ways."  Often  he 
stopped  away  from  home  a  day  or  two,  but  she  never 
worried.  He  always  came  back.  The  "Stahls" 
were  voluble  over  the  non-arrival  of  their  luggage, 
which  seemed  to  vex  them  more  than  the  appearance 
of  Cheffinsky,  their  old  friend.  Whether  or  not  Mrs. 
MacMahon  believed  the  story,  at  all  events  she 
agreed  to  supply  the  needs  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Stahl, 
ordering  a  list  of  things  for  their  selection.  This  ar- 
rangement raised  Clo's  hopes.  Maybe  Churn  and 
Kit  intended  to  venture  out!  If  they  went  for  a 
short  airing,  they  would  probably  leave  the  pearls  at 
home.  In  their  absence  Clo  would  somehow  get  into 
the  room  next  door.  With  Beverley's  jewels  recap- 
tured, her  mission  in  this  house  would  be  accom- 
plished. 

But  she  was  doomed  to  disappointment.  After 
writing  her  hopeful  letter  to  Leontine,  Clo's  expecta- 


THE  NINE  DAYS  249 

tions  of  quick  success  were  dashed.  Kit  and  Churn 
received  the  clothes  they  wanted,  but  did  not  go  out; 
nor  did  they  audibly  plan  to  go.  Their  intention 
was  to  eat  downstairs,  but  they  would  take  turns. 
One  would  always  keepjguard  over  the  pearls.  News- 
paper mention  of  the  "girl  in  pink"  had  scared  them. 
After  a  heated  argument  they  decided  that,  till  they 
"saw  how  the  wind  blew,"  they  would  not  risk  send- 
ing for  Isaacs.  This  was  a  sacrifice,  because  they 
wished  to  dispose  of  the  pearls  before  Cheffinsky 
came  "nosing  around";  but  they  were  not  sure  of 
Isaac's  loyalty.  Who  could  tell  what  he  might  do, 
if  tempted  by  big  bribes  to  "frame"  his  pals?  They 
must  wait;  and  so  must  Clo. 

Days  passed.  The  girl  still  posed  as  an  invalid  tak- 
ing a  rest-cure,  and  her  tips  to  Violet  were  generous. 
Once  she  heard  Kit  inquiring  who  lived  in  the  next 
room;  but  Mrs.  Mac's  answer  was  satisfactory.  A 
poor  little  mite  of  a  thing,  out  of  a  job  as  lady's  maid, 
was  their  neighbour;  Irish,  and  recommended  by  an 
old  client. 

Nine  days  Jagged  on,  and  then  at  last  Clo  came 
upon  a  "personal"  in  the  newspaper  she  took  in. 
Instantly  she  realized  that  it  was  meant  for  her,  and 
put  in  by  Justin  O'Reilly.  It  was  so  worded  that 
no  "outsider"  could  guess  its  meaning.  "C.R.  from 
her  cousin  who  is  just  in,"  was  the  heading  which 
caught  her  eye.  He  knew  that  she  knew  his  name 
was  Justin;  and  she  had  first  introduced  herself 
as  his  cousin!  "Working  out  Sunday's  problem 
with  expert  help,"  she  read,  "Message  received 


250  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

insufficient.  Won't  you  let  me  know  where  you 
are?" 

The  girl  dared  not  answer  by  letter  or  newspaper. 
Violet  would  undertake  any  errand,  but  she  could 
not  be  trusted  for  a  mission  of  such  importance. 
O'Reilly  must  be  content  with  the  message  passed 
on  by  Mrs.  Sands. 

On  the  ninth  day  Kit  and  Churn  had  a  serious 
quarrel.  The  man  insisted  on  going  out.  He  could 
stand  his  imprisonment  no  longer;  not  for  Kit,  not 
for  the  pearls! 

Clo  was  not  on  sentinel  duty  when  the  explosion 
came.  The  hole  in  the  wall  was  open  (she  stuffed 
it  up  only  when  someone  knocked,  lest  the  pair 
should  take  alarm  at  the  clearness  of  sounds),  but 
it  was  late  in  the  afternoon  of  a  blazing  hot  day,  and 
the  girl  lay  on  her  narrow  bed,  disgusted  with  life. 
She  had  now  paid  for  a  second  week  in  advance. 
There  wasn't  money  to  go  on  with  for  long,  at  the 
present  rate,  and  she  knew  not  how  to  get  more,  but  it 
was  too  hot  to  trouble  about  the  future.  The  quar- 
rel next  door  was  so  sordid  that  Clo  had  ceased  to 
listen,  when  suddenly  the  names  "  Olga  and  Stephen," 
spoken  loudly  by  Kit,  waked  her  from  a  half  doze. 
With  the  light  swiftness  of  a  cat  she  sprang  off  the 
bed,  and  went  to  her  post. 


xxxn 

"STEPHEN'S  DEAD!" 

"I  THOUGHT  you'd  sure  know  the  whole  story," 
Kit  was  saying. 

"I  on'y  knowed  about  Stephen.  That  I  had  to 
know,"  said  Churn. 

"But  you  knew  why  Pete  came  to  New  York, 
instead  of  going  West,  when  he  got  out  of  stir  in 
Chicago?" 

"I  know  he  come  to  kill  Heron " 

"Hullygee!     Not  so  loud!" 

"Well,  I  know  'oo  he  came  for  den,  if  you  like  dat 
better." 

"But  that  wasn't  the  whole  reason." 

"I  knowed  he  was  goin'  to  get  hold  o*  some  papers 
for  Chuff;  papers  dat  was  mixed  all  up  mit  our  busi- 
ness." 

"H'm!  That's  what  Chuff  wanted  us  to  think- 
that  they  concerned  us.  But  if  you  know  about 
those  papers,  you  must  know  the  rest,  about  Olga." 

"I  know  vat  Olga  and  Stephen  vas  to  each  other, 
if  dat's  vat  you  mean." 

"And  who  Olga  is?" 

"Olga  Beverley." 

"Greenhorn!    You  never  got  further  than  that?" 

"No.     Vat  for  I  get  furder?     I  never  see  'er. 

251 


252  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

She's  a  name  to  me,  dat's  all.  Nevaire  vould  I 
heard  even  dat  name  if  I  didn't  take  care  o'  Stephen, 
when  Jake  vas  off  on  a  bust  or  doin'  a  job  for  Chuff." 

"Funny  we  never  got  on  to  this  line  o'  talk  before," 
mused  Kit. 

"I  don't  see  vy  'funny.'  You  and  me  always  haf 
something  better  to  talk  about,  Katchen.  And  till 
dese  nine  days  in  dis  hole,  we  never  'ad  too  much 
time  together." 

"If  Pete  had  been  found  dead  and  I  hadn't  done 
it,  I'd  say  it  was  'Olga !'  She  was  the  woman  who  had 
to  give  up  the  papers  to  him.  He  told  me  he  was 
waitin'  for  the  papers  to  come.  He  said  he  wasn't  sure 
whether  she'd  bring  'em  herself,  or  this  girl  you've 
seen  about  in  the  newspapers;  the  one  who  called  on 
him  Sunday  afternoon.  I've  told  you  about  the 
women's  voices  in  the  hall,  and  someone  sittin'  plump 
on  the  trunk  when  I  was  inside.  Well,  if  I  could  o' 
peeped^  I  bet  I'd  seen  Olga.  She  was  one  of  the 
women  dressed  for  the  automobile  they're  tryin*  to 
trace  an'  can't." 

"Would  you  knowed  Olga  if  you  'ad  seen  her?" 

"Would  I?  Say,  did  you  never  hear  of  Roger 
Sands?" 

"He  was  de  guy  who  worked  for  Heron  las'  year, 
and  got  de  gang  goin'  after  him." 

"Well,  it  was  Olga  he  married,  but  not  with  her 
own  name.  She'd  took  another  so  as  to  get  away 
with  the  papers.  She's  had  the  papers  from  then  till 
now.  The  thing  that  interests  me,  and  maybe  will 
you,  is  something  else.  It  popped  into  my  nut  to- 


"STEPHEN'S  DEAD!"  253 

day  that  the  pearls  are  hers !  I  bet  something  went 
wrong  with  the  papers,  and  she  gave  Pete  the  pearls 
instead  I  bet  he  was  studyin'  how  to  double-cross 
Chuff,  and  square  himself  when — when  my  act  comes 
on." 

"What  'old "would  Chuff  'ave  on  a  woman  married 
mit  a  big  fellah  like  Sands?"  Churn  wanted  to  know. 
"  Vy  she  let  herself  be  skinned  like  dat,  for  Stephen's 
dead  an'  stiff  dese  tree  weeks  or  more?" 

"Yes,"  Kit  repeated.  "Stephen's  been  dead 
'most  a  month.  That's  one  reason  they  couldn't 
let  things  slide,  so  the  minute  Pete  was  free  they  put 
him  on  the  job.  He  was  keen,  because  of  Heron. 
And  John  Heron  blew  into  New  York  just  the  right 
time,  for  the  plan.  Pete  was  to  get  the  papers  first, 
and  then — you  know  what." 

"Yes,  I  know  dat.  But  Stephen — Stephen  gone, 
what  'old  'ad  Chuff  on  Olga?" 

"Booby,  dear,  Olga  doesn't  know  Stephen's  dead." 

Clo's  blood  rushed  to  her  brain.  She  felt  faint. 
Had  she  been  on  her  feet  she  would  have  fallen. 
This  was  the  one  thing  of  all  for  Beverley.  Clo  felt 
that  she  hated  this  cruel  ChefEnsky  with  an  almost 
murderous  hatred.  How  could  she  let  Beverley 
know,  and  make  her  understand  that  "Stephen" 
was  dead.  Ought  she  to  go  back  with  her  news  to 
Park  Avenue,  and  abandon  the  pearls?  The  police 
could  never  be  asked  to  take  a  hand  in  this  business, 
and  before  she  could  even  ask  help  from  O'Reilly  and 
Denham,  Churn  might  have  disappeared.  With  her- 
self as  sentinel  off  duty,  nothing  was  sure,  for  a  dan- 


254  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

gcrous  restlessness  possessed  the  pair.  Still,  Beverley 
would  sacrifice  the  pearls  for  the  knowledge  that  her 
enemies  had  no  longer  any  hold  upon  her. 

"If  I  dared  telegraph!"  the  girl  thought.  For  she 
wanted  Beverley  to  have  both  the  knowledge  and 
the  pearls. 

About  this  hour  Violet  was  in  the  habit  of  toiling 
up  with  beer  for  Kit  and  Churn,  and  water  or  lemon- 
ade for  their  neighbour.  The  woman  was  due  in  a 
few  minutes  and  Clo  spent  the  interval  in  concocting 
a  message  for  Leontine  Rossignol. 

"Tell  your  mistress  I've  had  news  since  I  last  saw 
her  that  Stephen  is  dead,"  were  the  words  she  de- 
cided on,  before  Violet's  arrival  was  advertised  by  a 
tinkle  of  ice. 

The  telegram  was  delivered  that  night  at  the  flat 
in  Park  Avenue,  but  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sands  and  their 
household  had  left  for  Newport.  Only  a  parlour 
maid  remained.  She  detested  Leontine,  being  Bo- 
hemian by  birth,  while  Leontine  was  French.  Anna 
Schultz  decided  to  forget  indefinitely  the  telegram 
for  Leontine  Rossignol. 

When  she  had  sent  the  message,  Clo's  thoughts 
went  back  to  the  pearls.  She  would  be  driven  to 
leave  the  house  soon  for  lack  of  money.  If  she 
had  to  go  without  the  pearls,  she  would  feel  herself  a 
failure.  The  net  was  proving  tough  for  the  tiny 
teeth  of  a  mouse!  But  the  mouse  was  ready  to  do 
anything  rather  than  give  up. 

That  evening  Churn  again  announced  his  inten- 
tion to  go  out  at  any  cost.  Whither  he  was  bound, 


"STEPHEN'S  DEAD!"  255 

Clo  did  not  know,  for  she  had  missed  scraps  of  talk 
in  the  next  room.  Kit  cried,  and  in  the  midst  of 
hysterical  sobs,  the  door  slammed.  Churn  had  gone! 
Kit  continued  to  sob. 

Clo's  blood  took  fire.  She  flamed  with  courage. 
Having  fixed  upon  her  plan  of  action  she  darted  into 
the  passage  and  knocked  on  Kit's  door. 

"Who's  that?"  came  the  sharp  answer. 

"It's  only  me.  The  little  girl  from  the  next  room,'* 
Clo  explained  in  a  small  voice  like  a  child's.  Her 
hair  hung  over  her  shoulders,  and  she  wore  a  cheap 
blue  muslin  dressing  gown  chosen  by  Violet. 

Kit  threw  open  the  door  so  suddenly,  and  stared  so 
keenly  through  the  dusk  that  Clo  shrank  back  a 
little.  "  What  do  you  want? "  snapped  Kit. 

"Oh,  maybe  I  oughtn't  to  have  come!"  Clo  apolo- 
gized. "I  heard  you  crying.  And  I'm  so  homesick 
and  miserable  myself!  Don't  be  angry." 

Kit  opened  the  door  wide.  Her  bleached  yellow 
hair  bristled  round  her  face. 

"I  didn't  know  I  was  howling  so  loud.  Say,  can 
you  hear  us  talkin',  me  and  my  husband?  I  hope 
we  don't  keep  you  awake  nights." 

"You  haven't  kept  me  awake  once,"  Clo  assured 
her  with  truth.  "Crying's  easier  to  hear  than  talk- 
ing. You  see,  I'm  in  trouble  and  I'm  awfully  lonely." 

"7  haven't  got  any  real  trouble,"  said  Kit.  "Me 
and  my  husband  sometimes '  have  a  spat,  like  all 
married  folks,  and  I'm  fool  enough  to  bawl.  He's 
out  now.  Would  you  like  me  to  come  in  and  visit 
with  you  a  while?  " 


256  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

"I'd  love  it!"  gasped  Clo.  She  would  have  pre- 
ferred an  invitation  to  her  neighbour's  room,  but 
she  hoped  for  that  later.  Kit  locked  her  door  care- 
fully and  slipped  the  key  down  the  neck  of  her  dress. 
She  accepted  Clo's  suggestion  to  sit  on  the  bed, 
which  was  more  comfortable  than  the  one  broken- 
backed  chair.  Question  after  question  she  put, 
which  cost  her  hostess  tiresome  flights  of  imagina- 
tion to  answer.  Clo  was  far  from  regretting  ker 
move,  however.  If  Churn  were  absent  long,  or  if 
he  went  out  again,  Kit  said  that  she  would  return 
as  an  escape  from  boredom. 

It  was  eleven  o'clock  when  once  more  Clo  heard 
the  two  voices,  and  from  their  conversation  Clo 
gathered  that  they  did  not  expect  Chuff  back  till  the 
day  after  to-morrow. 

"Day  after  to-morrow!"  echoed  Kit.  "Then  we 
must  get  Isaacs  here  to-morrow." 

"I  t'ought  of  dat,"  said  Churn.  "I  went  updere 
after  I  see  Jake.  Isaacs  'as  started  for  Chicago  on 
business,  and  won't  be  back  till  the  same  day  as 
Chuff,  day  after  to-morrah." 

Clo  drank  in  each  word,  and  focussed  her  mind  on 
its  meaning.  To-morrow,  or  the  day  after,  her  hour 
would  come;  then,  or  never. 


xxxm 

THE  PATCH  ON  THE  PILLOW 

CHURN'S  excursion  had  justified  itself,  and  the 
morning  after  his  first  absence  he  went  out  again. 
Toward  noon  Kit,  in  a  "ready-to-wear"  looking 
costume,  knocked  at  Clo's  door.  "Thought  you 
might  want  some  candy,"  she  said.  "Shall  I  come 
in?" 

Clo  was  cordial,  and  tried  to  be  entertaining. 
"If  I  can  make  her  like  me,  perhaps  she'll  go  down 
to  a  meal  with  Churn,  and  leave  me  on  guard,"  she 
reflected.  Kit  feared  to  stop  long  with  her  new 
friend  lest  Churn  should  arrive  while  she  was  "gad- 
ding." She  dodged  back  and  forth  from  room  to 
room,  and  was  at  home  to  receive  her  husband  in  the 
afternoon. 

Next  morning  early  Clo  heard  Churn  announce 
that  he  would  meet  Isaacs'  train  at  the  Grand  Cen- 
tral; the  "old  lady"  had  told  him  the  time.  Kit 
objected.  "You  might  miss  him.  Best  wait  at 
his  place,"  she  advised.  But  Churn  would  not  be 
persuaded.  He  had  seen  Jake  again,  who  prophe- 
sied that  Chuff  would  not  arrive  before  the  afternoon. 
They  had  the  whole  morning  to  see  Isaacs  and  bar- 
gain with  him,  but  it  would  be  a  waste  of  time  to 
hang  about  at  "Isaacs'  place.''  Churn  would  catch 

257 


258  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

Isaacs  at  the  train,  and  bring  him  round  to  Kit. 
She  must  clear  up  the  room,  and  have  everything 
ship-shape  in  an  hour.  But  Kit's  anger  grew  as 
Churn  insisted.  "I  know  why  you're  mad  to  get 
to  the  Grand  Central,"  she  flung  at  him.  "Didn't 
you  s'pose  I  noticed  the  name  on  the  candy  box. 
Bah!  I  ain't  a  fool.  You  said  you  was  sick  of 
bein'  boxed  up  with  me.  That  put  me  wise." 

Churn  protested  innocence,  and  went  off  jauntily, 
but  Clo  looked  for  developments.  "Kit's  mum,  to 
put  Churn  off  the  track,"  she  thought.  "But  she 
means  to  follow  him.  She's  bought  no  handbag. 
She  can't  very  well  take  the  pearls." 

Clo  had  read  a  paragraph  concerning  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Roger  Sands.  It  referred  to  the  "house warming 
party"  they  were  giving  at  their  "lately  acquired 
cottage  in  Newport."  Apparently  the  affair  had 
been  mentioned  before  in  the  column  devoted  to 
"Society"  news,  but  Clo  had  missed  it.  The  allu- 
sion to  the  "housewarming,"  and  "dinner  dance  set 
Clo's  brain  whirling.  Angel  would  be  expected  by 
her  husband  to  wear  the  queen's  pearls.  If  he  al- 
ready guessed  the  secret,  this  might  be  a  plan  to 
force  his  wife's  hand.  Beverley  feared  him.  Clo 
had  seen  that.  Angel  must  have  the  pearls  for  to- 
morrow night.  And  they  must  be  strung,  ready  to 
wear,  or  they  would  be  useless  to  her,  arriving  at  the 
last  moment.  The  girl  would  have  been  at  her  wits' 
end,  but  for  that  quarrel  next  door.  If  Kit  did  go 
spying  on  Churn.  .  .  .  ! 

The  door  slammed  after  Churn.     A  second  later 


THE  PATCH  ON  THE  PILLOW       259 

Kit  was  knocking,  calling  her  new  friend  by  her  new 
nickname:  "Kid-Kid!  Let  me  in,  quick!" 

Clo  let  her  in.  Kit  was  pinning  on  a  wide- 
brimmed  hat,  and  had  her  hands  full  with  a  veil, 
gloves,  and  parasol.  "Tie  this  veil  for  me,  there's  a 
good  kid!"  she  panted.  "I'm  mad  at  my  husband. 
He's  off  to  flirt  with  a  beast  of  a  girl  in  a  candy  store. 
They  had  a  mash  before  we  married.  You're  goin* 
to  be  in  all  mornin',  ain't  you?" 

"I  thought  of  running  out  to  'phone  a  friend  of 
mine,"  said  Clo,  cleverly. 

"Don't!  There's  a  'phone  in  the  house,  the  room 
under  mine — room  of  a  pal  away  till  this  afternoon. 
He  left  his  key  with  Mrs.  Mac,  and  she  lent  it  to 
my  husband  last  night  so  he  could  borrow  some 
novels  for  me;  our  pal  has  lots.  We've  not  given 
the  key  back,  so  when  I  come  home  I'll  take  you 
down.  I  want  you  to  stay  in  while  I'm  gone.  All 
you  need  do  is  to  sit  with  your  door  open,  and  see  if 
any  one  knocks  at  mine.  And  I've  got  the  key.  But 
it's  the  same  as  every  old  key;  'tain't  a  special  one 

like  Ch like  our  pal's.  If  a  stranger  calls  look 

close,  so  you  can  describe  the  person." 

"I  undertake  watchdogging  in  all  its  branches," 
said  Clo.  "Ta,  ta!" 

"I  count  on  you!"  were  Kit's  last  words  at  the 
top  of  the  steps. 

"Bet  your  life  you  can!"  the  "kid"  called  after 
her.  But  as  Eat  ran  downstairs,  without  stopping 
to  look  round,  Clo  dashed  to  her  own  open  win- 
dow. In  a  moment  Kit's  parasol  went  bobbing 


260  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

along  the  street.  The  coast  was  clear.  Kit's  man- 
ner made  it  certain  that  she  had  left  the  pearls 
behind. 

Violet  would  not  come  up  for  the  two  breakfast 
trays  for  a  long  time  yet.  Kit's  opinion  of  the  key 
was  the  same  as  that  already  formed  by  Clo,  and  the 
girl  was  wild  to  test  it.  She  snatched  her  own  key 
from  its  lock,  to  try  it  in  Kit's  door.  It  went  in, 
but  stopped  at  the  critical  turn.  There  were  two 
more  rooms  on  this  floor;  a  small  one  opposite  Clo's, 
tenanted  by  a  young  man  who  went  to  work  at 
seven  o'clock;  and  another  still  smaller,  used  as  a 
store-room — a  refuge  for  trunks,  dust-pans,  and 
brooms.  The  early  bird  never  locked  his  door,  but 
his  key  fell  short  of  success. 

The  storeroom  key  remained.  It  did  not  fail. 
It  turned  all  the  way  round  in  the  lock,  and  Kit's 
door  opened. 

Clo's  was  shut  and  locked,  in  case  Violet  should 
break  her  rule  and  come  too  soon. 

Not  only  did  the  girl  expect  to  find  the  pearls,  but 
Chuff's  key,  and  she  hoped  to  telephone  if  necessary, 
before  making  her  "bolt."  "Wonderful  that  both 
these  chances  should  fall  together! 

Clo  knew  that  the  pearls  were  kept  in  a  drawer; 
but  Kit  would  not  go  out  and  leave  them  in  so  ob- 
vious a  place.  Nevertheless,  Clo  began  by  looking 
through  the  drawers,  of  which  there  were  six. 

Churn's  evening  clothes  hung  from  a  hook  on  the 
wall;  there  was  nothing  in  the  pockets;  nothing  in  the 
shoes  which  stood  underneath  except  a  pair  of  socks. 


THE  PATCH  ON  THE  PILLOW       261 

Other  hiding-place  there  was  none,  save  the  bed; 
and  it  was  there  that  Clo  expected  to  find  the 
pearls. 

Kit  had  made  the  bed,  and  neatly  patted  the  two. 
ill-matched  pillows  into  shape.  Clo  stripped  off  the 
unbleached  covers  of  these  pillows  and  looked  for 
some  sign  that  the  ticking  had  been  ripped  open. 
There  was  a  patch  on  the  larger  pillow.  One  end 
of  this  patch  was  unsewn  and  held  in  place  with  a 
pin.  Underneath  it  something  hard  could  be  felt 
with  the  hand.  Clo  undid  the  pin,  and  thrusting  in 
her  hand  pulled  out  a  packet  made  of  a  red  silk  hand- 
kerchief tied  round  with  gold  string  from  a  confec- 
tioner's. Clo  squeezed  the  tight  folds  of  silk.  They 
held  the  pearls. 

It  seemed  a  waste  of  time  to  open  the  handkerchief. 
She  longed  to  run  out  of  the  house  with  her  treasure, 
without  a  second's  delay.  Why  search  for  Chuff's 
key?  As  she  had  found  the  pearls  she  did  not  need 
to  'phone.  The  girl  was  at  the  door,  with  her  hand 
on  the  key,  before  she  realized  how  mad  it  would  be 
not  to  make  certain  of  her  find. 

Yes,  the  pearls  were  really  there,  the  darlings! 
She  re- wrapped  the  parcel,  and  again  was  at  the  door 
when  another  thought  struck  her.  Better  make  the 
bed  look  as  it  had  looked  before.  She  returned,  put 
the  pillows  back  into  then*  covers,  stood  them  up  in 
place,  and  during  the  process  decided  that  she  would 
spare  a  moment  to  search  for  Chuff's  key.  It  might 
come  in  handy.  Kit  had  let  drop  that  the  key  was 
a  special  key.  Clo  guessed  that  at  times  there  were 


262  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

things  to  hide,  and  then  Chuff  would  forget  to  leave 
that  key  for  his  friends !  "  It  might  be  useful  to  Mr. 
O'Reilly's  Denham,"  she  thought.  "If  I  can  find  it 
quick " 

And  flitting  about  the  room  she  pounced  upon  a 
key  which  answered  Kit's  description.  It  was  on 
the  mantelpiece — a  small,  flat  key,  of  a  "special" 
kind,  because  it  was  made  for  a  Yale  lock. 

She  shut  the  door  softly  behind  her,  and  locked  it 
as  she  went  out.  The  borrowed  key  she  replaced  in 
the  storeroom.  Then  she  unlocked  her  own  door, 
and  tearing  off  the  blue  wrapper,  put  on  the  tan- 
coloured  linen  suit  Violet  had  bought  in  a  -ale,  for 
five  dollars.  There  was  a  tan  straw  hat,  t.,o  (Clo 
dared  not  appear  in  the  brown  toque  and  coat  de- 
scribed by  the  newspapers),  and  a  cheap  handbag 
purchased  for  the  pearls  in  case  she  should  get  them. 
It  was  a  tight  fit  for  the  red  silk  bundle,  but  she 
squeezed  it  in,  and  added  the  big  pearl  found  in  Pet- 
erson's room.  She  would  also  liave  tucked  in  the 
Yale  key,  but  the  bag  refused  to  shut,  and  she  kept 
the  key  in  her  hand.  What  money  she  had  left,  she 
slipped  inside  her  blouse;  everything  else  she  aban- 
doned. Kit  would  rage  in  vain  when  she  looked  for 
the  red  handkerchief  parcel. 

"I  can't  have  been  hah5  an  hour,"  she  thought,  as 
she  tripped  past  the  breakfast  trays  and  started 
downstairs.  "Kit  and  Churn  may  be  out  a  long 
while  yet.  I'd  hate  to  come  face  to  face  with  'em 
in  the  street!" 

Less  than  half  way  down,  she  heard  Violet's  voice, 


THE  PATCH  ON  THE  PILLOW       263 

and  her  nerves  jumped.  "On  my  way  up  for  them 
trays  o'  yourn,"  the  woman  said. 

To  whom  was  she  speaking?  Kit  back  already? 
Yes,  Kit  was  answering  her:  "I'll  run  up  ahead. 
I'm  in  a  hurry." 

The  voices  sounded  near.  Clo  felt  that  her  blood 
was  turning  to  water.  Should  she  fly  back  and 
lock  herself  into  her  room?  No,  for  Eat  would  dis- 
cover her  loss,  and  would  guess  what  had  happened. 
A  fight  for  the  pearls  would  be  too  uncertain,  and 
Kit  would  call  Mrs.  Mac  and  Vi  to  the  rescue,  or 

Churn  might  come But  could  she  hope  to  pass 

safely  if  she  went  on?  No,  she  had  promised  to 
guard  the  door.  Kit  would  accuse  and  stop  her  if 
they  met. 

In  her  anguish  Clo's  fingers  closed  upon  Chuff's 
key.  If  only  she  could  hide  in  Chuff's  room  before 
Eat  reached  his  floor!  She  stumbled  down  the  last 
few  steps,  and  paused  at  the  room  under  Kit's. 
Would  the  key  fit?  It  went  deep  into  the  small 
keyhole,  and  turned.  Kit  must  be  close  to  the  top 
of  the  stairs  now. 


XXXIV 
TRAPPED 

TREMBLING  the  girl  locked  herself  into  Chuff's  room 
and  went  straight  to  the  telephone.  If  O'Reilly  were 
at  home  he  would  make  a  dash  to  the  rescue.  Her 
hand  was  on  the  receiver  when  she  remembered  that 
she  was  marooned.  She  was  ignorant  of  the  'phone 
number  and  had  never  dared  inquire  the  number  of 
the  house  or  street.  Now,  when  it  was  too  late,  she 
wished  with  all  her  heart  that  she  had  slipped  out 
late  at  night,  while  Kit  and  Churn  slept,  and  thus 
found  her  bearings.  She  had  not  gone,  because  the 
pair  always  talked  till  after  midnight,  and  the  later 
the  hour  the  more  important  their  confidences.  But 
surely  she  could  not  fall  over  this  small  stumbling 
block!  The  girl  ran  to  a  writing  table  and  opened 
the  blotting-book.  It  was  old,  thickly  patterned 
with  stains,  but  it  contained  not  a  single  sheet  of 
paper.  She  pulled  out  a  drawer.  There  was  writing 
paper  in  it,  but  unstamped.  While  she  fumbled, 
hoping  for  an  old  envelope  addressed  to  Chuff,  the 
girl  could  hear  the  patter  of  feet  overhead.  Kit  was 
in  her  own  room  walking  about.  Suddenly  the 
boards  ceased  to  creak.  Kit  had  stopped.  Was  it 
at  the  bedside?  Was  she  pulling  the  cover  off  the 
patched  pillow? 

264 


TRAPPED  265 

Clo  had  turned  to  a  shelf  crowded  with  books  and 
magazines  when  a  new  idea  came  to  her.  She 
snatched  up  the  blotter  and  held  it  open,  in  front  of 
a  mirror,  over  the  mantelpiece.  "Dear  Peterson/' 
she  read,  "Churn  will  take  you  this,  and " 

The  line  beneath  mingled  with  others,  and  could 
not  be  disentangled,  but  the  address  of  the  house 
had  been  written  above,  and  could  be  clearly  read. 

With  a  sigh  of  thanksgiving  Clo  ran  to  the 
telephone,  called  up  Central,  and  asked  for  the  Dietz 
Hotel.  Her  voice  could  no  doubt  be  heard  in  the 
hall  outside,  and  might  even  reach  Kit's  ears  upstairs. 
But  the  door  must  be  broken  before  she  could  be  torn 
from  the  'phone,  and  at  this  hour,  when  all  the  men 
boarders  were  out  there  was  no  strong  arm  for  such 
work.  Meantime,  O'Reilly  might  come.  The  girl 
longed  for  him  with  a  new  and  desperate  longing. 

The  Dietz  answered  quickly.  Mr.  Justin  O'Reilly 
was  still  staying  in  the  hotel,  but  he  had  gone  out. 
Tears  started  to  Clo's  eyes.  She  was  trapped  now, 
and  must  summon  Beverley  to  get  the  pearls.  She 
had  not  the  Sands'  'phone  number,  and  must  ask 
Central  to  call  the  Park  Avenue  apartment.  When 
she  had  done  this,  silence  fell.  But  it  was  only  for  a 
moment.  Clo  stood,  with  her  ear  at  the  receiver  still, 
when  a  loud  bang  on  the  door  made  her  jump  as 
though  she  had  been  shot.  The  door  knob  turned. 

"You  little  devil!"  shrilled  Kit's  voice.  "You— 
thief!  I  know  you're  there.  Wait  till  I  catch  you !" 

"Hello!"  spoke  a  foreign-sounding  voice  through 
the  'phone — the  voice  of  a  woman.  "Hello!  Yes, 


266  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

this  is  Mrs.  Sands'  flat.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sands  are 
not  at  home." 

"When  will  they  be  back? "asked  Clo. 

"I  don't  know  that,"  answered  the  cold  voice 
of  Anna  Schultz.  "It  may  be  a  long  time." 

The  girl  had  an  instant  of  despair,  but  she  was  not 
yet  beaten.  As  Kit  pounded  furiously  on  the  door, 
Clo  called  up  the  jeweller  where  Ellen  Blackburne 
was  employed. "  Ellen  had  been  in  but  gone  out  again ; 
but,  oh,  she  had  just  returned.  She  would  step  to 
the  'phone. 

A  moment  later  Ellen's  calm  "Hello"  seemed  to 
travel  to  her  from  a  far-distant,  peaceful  world. 

"  This  is  Clo,"  replied  the  girl,  conscious  that  voices 
outside  the  door  ceased  their  clamour  in  order  that 
ears  might  hear  her  message.  "Yes,  I  said  Clo! 
For  God's  sake  get  into  a  taxi  and  rush  to  the  number 
and  street  I'm  going  to  give  you.  Listen!  Don't 
stop  to  ask  questions.  When  you  get  here,  you 
don't  need  to  come  in.  I'll  drop  something  out  of 
the  window.  You  can  guess  what.  I'll  expect  you 
quick.  Good-bye!" 

"I  heard  you!"  shrieked  Kit.  "7  can  guess, 
too!  You've  stolen  my  pearls,  and  you  think  you'll 
pass  'em  on  to  some  other  thief.  But  you  won't,  you 
devil !  We'll  have  this  door  down  in  five  minutes." 

Clo  went  to  the  window,  rolled  up  the  blind,  and 
raised  the  sash. 

"Why  won't  you  let  me  call  the  police?"  she  heard 
Mrs.  Mac  asking.  "I  tell  you  it's  the  only  thing. 


TRAPPED  267 

"She  won't  let  you  do  it  because  she  stole  the 
pearls  herself,"  cried  Clo,  darting  across  the  room  to 
put  her  lips  to  the  keyhole.  "And  that's  not  all 
she's  afraid  of." 

"I'll  kill  you  when  I  get  my  hands  round  your 
throat,"  Kit  screamed  her  down. 

"I  won't  be  the  first  you've  killed.  Take  care!" 
Clo  retorted,  and  was  then  stung  with  regret  for  her 
boldness.  There  would  be  no  mercy  for  her  now 
from  Kit  or  Churn  when  the  door  gave  way.  They 
would  know  that  she'd  been  the  woman  at  the  tele- 
phone masquerading  as  Kit. 

But,  if  only  Miss  Blackburne  came  first,  before 
they  broke  in,  she  didn't  much  care.  With  the 
pearls  safe,  she  could  fight  for  herself. 

"Hurrah,  by  all  that's  good,  here's  my  Boy!" 
crowed  Kit  outside  the  door.  "  Churn !  you've  come ! 
Mr.  Isaacs,  too!  I  was- never  so  glad  in  my  life  to 
see  any  one  as  you  both!  There's  a  thief  in  Mr. 
Cheffinsky's  room — the  girl  that's  been  living  next 
door  to  us.  She's  stole  my  poor  little  string  o'  beads." 

Men's  voices  spoke.  Churn  and  Isaacs  were  in- 
deed there!  The  girl  put  her  ear  to  the  keyhole 
once  more,  and  listened. 

"What  did  I  tell  you  about  dat  key?"  Churn 
caught  her  up.  "You're  ten  kinds  of  a  fool,  girl. 
But  de  tief's  dere  all  right,  you  say?" 

"Yes,  she's  there  all  right.  She  must  have  took 
Chuff's  key  off  our  mantelpiece.  You  left  it  there! 
The  little  brute's  been  'phonin'  some  pal  to  come  in 
a  taxi  so  she  can  drop  my  pearls  out  the  window." 


268  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

"Let  me  go  down  and  talk  things  over  with  the 
pal  when  he  comes,"  said  another  voice  that  was 
very  smooth,  and  had  a  lisp.  Clo  deduced  that  it 
was  the  voice  of  Isaacs. 

"Yes,  do  go  down ! "  The  girl  jeered  him  through 
the  keyhole.  "I'll  call  from  the  window  what  you 
are,  a  fence;  that's  your  nickname.  You're  a  re- 
ceiver of  stolen  goods." 

For  a  few  breathless  moments  there  was  no  sound. 
Clo  wondered  if  Ellen  had  started,  and  how  soon 
the  taxi  might  arrive.  She  went  again  to  the  window 
and  looked  out.  There  was  no  taxi  in  sight,  no 
vehicle  of  any  sort,  but  children  playing,  women  chat- 
ting together.  Clo  wished  that  she  might  shriek  at 
the  top  of  her  voice  "Help!"  "Thieves!"  "Mur- 
der!" A  policeman  would  surely  come,  and  she  and 
the  pearls  would  be  saved.  But  Beverley  would  be 
lost.  The  story  of  the  pearls  would  come  out  some- 
how. As  she  gazed  like  Sister  Anne  from  the  tower, 
two  things  happened.  In  the  house,  a  blow  from  a 
hammer  made  the  door  quiver;  in  the  street  a  taxi 
came  swinging  into  sight. 

"They'll  have  the  door  down!"  Clo  gasped.  "But 
if  only  that's  Ellen  she'll  be  just  in  time." 

The  bag  containing  the  pearls  in  their  red  wrap- 
ping was  in  the  girl's  hand.  She  stood,  prepared  to 
throw  it  if  Ellen  appeared.  The  taxi  was  slowing 
down.  Yes,  it  was  stopping  in  front  of  the  house. 
It  must  be  Ellen — but  no !  A  man  stepped  out,  and 
glanced  quickly  in  all  directions.  He  did  not  look 
up  at  the  window,  where  Clo  had  shrunk  back  as  far 


TRAPPED  269 

as  she  could,  not  to  lose  sight  of  what  went  on  below. 
He  was  furtively  intent  upon  a  gray  limousine  car,  with 
several  men  in  it,  which  had  followed  the  taxi  along 
the  street.  The  motor  passed  on,  however,  and  its 
occupants  (there  were  four  or  five,  Clo  fancied)  were 
busily  talking.  They  did  not  look  out,  or  interest 
themselves  in  the  stopping  of  the  taxi.  The  man  who 
had  come  in  the  latter  had  the  air  of  hiding  behind 
it,  as  he  paid  the  chauffeur  and  carefully  counted 
his  change;  but  the  instant  the  limousine  had  slid 
ahead,  regardless  of  him,  he  ran  up  the  steps.  Clo, 
at  the  window,  could  see  him  no  more. 

"What  if  it's  Chuff?"  she  thought,  "and  he  finds 
them  breaking  down  his  door?  " 

Somehow  she  had  the  impression  that  ChefBnsky 
was  even  more  wicked  than  Churn,  a  man  without 
scruples,  a  man  who  would  stop  at  nothing  for  his 
own  advantage. 

"Crack!"  went  one  of  the  panels,  and  Clo,  flying 
to  the  door,  snatched  the  key  from  the  keyhole. 
She  knew  the  panel  could  not  last  many  minutes, 
and  a  picture  rose  before  her  mind  of  a  hand  pushing 
through  a  hole,  to  turn  the  key  in  the  lock.  Any- 
how, that  should  not  happen! 

Back  she  fled  to  the  window  again,  and  stared  anx- 
iously out. 

Another  taxi  appeared.  The  gray  limousine  had 
turned,  and  was  coming  back,  also.  But  Clo  cared 
only  for  the  taxi.  It  was  slowing  down.  A  woman 
thrust  her  head  out  and  looked  up — a  neat  little 
head  in  a  black  toque.  "Miss  Blackburne!"  The 


270  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

girl  cried  shrilly.  The  taxi  stopped.  But  the  door 
stuck.  Oh,  why  didn't  the  silly  chauffeur  jump  off 
his  seat  and  help? 

Crash!  The  panel  broke  with  a  loud  shriek  of 
rending  wood.  The  hammer  came  through,  and 
was  jerked  quickly  out  again.  A  man's  hand  seized 
a  jagged  piece  of  the  panel  and  tore  it  away.  An 
eye  peered  through  the  aperture,  but  Clo  was  at 
the  window. 

"Quick — quick!"  she  implored,  and  brandished 
the  bag  far  over  the  sill. 

.The  eye  disappeared  from  the  panel,  and  the 
muzzle  of  a  revolver  took  its  place. 

Miss  Blackburne  had  jumped  down  on  to  the 
pavement. 

"If  you  throw  out  that  bag,  I  fire,"  a  voice  warned 
Clo — a  new  voice,  not  Churn's. 

The  girl  glanced  round  involuntarily,  and  saw  the 
small  black  object  imbedded  in  the  smashed  door 
panel.  Her  nerves  jerked,  but  she  turned  back  to 
the  window,  with  a  sensation  of  ice  in  her  spine. 

"String  these  and  get  them  to  her,  if  you  have  to 
take  them  to  Newport!"  she  cried. 

There  was  a  queer  muffled  explosion,  not  un- 
like the  breaking  of  wood,  yet  somehow  different. 
Clo  felt  a  blow  on  the  shoulder,  and  then  a  strange, 
heart-rending  pain.  She  staggered,  fell  forward  on 
to  her  knees,  hanging  over  the  window  sill.  But 
she  threw  the  bag.  A  red  light  flamed  in  her  eyes, 
not  like  the  light  of  the  summer  day.  Through  the 
redness  she  thought  she  saw  a  little  woman  in  black 


TRAPPED  271 

catch  the  bag  and  stand  still,  looking  up.  Clo 
tried  to  wave  her  hand,  motioning  "Go  on — hurry!" 
and  her  lips  formed  the  words.  She  was  not  sure 
whether  the  woman  went,  or  whether  she  had  been 
stopped  at  the  taxi  door  by  some  men  getting  out  of 
that  gray  limousine;  the  cloud  of  red  had  grown  so 
thick.  But  there  were  noises  behind  her.  The  men 
in  the  hall  had  burst  the  door  open.  She  could  not 
look  round  again.  Her  head  rested  upon  her  arm, 
lying  on  the  window  sill.  Then  someone  was  drag- 
ging her  away.  It  was  all  over  for  her  in  this  world ! 
But  Beverley's  pearls  were  saved. 


XXXV 
THE  TIME  LIMIT  OF  HOPE 

A  BIG,  blond  man  had  hustled  Mrs.  Mac  and  Violet 
downstairs  before  the  shot  was  fired.  It  was  be- 
wildering to  them  that  Mr.  Cheffinsky  should  come 
home  after  his  strange  absence  with  his  beautiful 
golden  beard  and  moustache  shaved  off. 

ChefBnsky  was  like  an  officer  directing  a  defence. 
He  took  command  instantly  he  entered  the  house, 
seeming  to  understand  the  situation  without  a  ques- 
tion. "If  any  one  rings,  let  Violet  be  a  long  time 
opening  the  door,"  he  said.  "But  it  must  be 
opened.  Don't  act  as  if  there  was  something  to 
hide.  Keep  'em  talking,  no  matter  who,  or  about 
what  as  long  as  you  can.  There's  been  a  theft  from 
a  lady  boarder,  and  a  little  excitement;  you've  only 
to  tell  the  truth — see?  " 

All  this  in  a  second;  but  it  got  the  two  women  out 
of  the  way.  The  spy  must  be  muzzled  at  any  cost, 
for  Cheffinsky  guessed  at  a  word  from  Kit  that  this 
was  the  mysterious  girl  of  the  telephone. 

"Pick  her  up,"  he  said  to  Kit,  when  they  had  got 
the  locked  door  open.  "If  any  eyes  are  on  that 
window,  it  won't  look  too  queer  for  one  girl  to  pull 
another  back  into  the  room." 

As  the  other  two  women  had  done,  Kit  obeyed.  She 

272 


THE  TIME  LIMIT  OF  HOPE          273 

was  used  to  obeying  Chuff  in  the  past.  She  dragged 
Clo  to  the  back  of  the  room,  out  of  sight  from  the 
window,  and  awaited  further  commands. 

"Now,"  Chuff  said,  "if  we're  spotted,  this  is  a 
suicide — see?  She  stole  your  pearls,  and  when  she 
was  caught  she  killed  herself." 

"But  the  shot's  in  her  shoulder — and  she  ain't 
dead.  She's  opening  her  eyes,"  Kit  objected. 

"She's  got  to  be  dead,"  Chuff  decreed.  "I  know 
how  to  fix  the  bullet  business.  It'll  have  to  be  done 
now,  because  if  trouble  comes  it  will  come  quick. 
Look  here;  this  is  the  thing  to  do,  if  there's  questions 
to  answer.  You  caught  her  stealing.  She  ran  down 
to  this  room  from  yours,  threw  the  stuff  out  of  the 
window  to  a  pal,  and  then  grabbed  my  Browning 
from  the  mantelpiece.  She'd  have  shot  you,  but 
seeing  the  men,  knew  the  game  was  up,  and  did 
for  herself  instead.  Shut  the  window,  Kit.  I'm 
going  to  put  another  ball  into  her,  in  the  chest,  just 
opposite  the  spot  of  blood  on  her  back.  Carry 
her  into  the  closet,  to  cover  the  sound.  I  mustn't 
touch  her  myself.  There's  spots  on  you  already. 
Account  for  them  by  saying  you  picked  her  up  to  see 
if  she  was  alive." 

"But  if  she's  in  the  closet " 

"She  ran  there,  and  shot  at  you  from  inside  the 
door,  after  we'd  all  broken  into  the  room  to  get  at 
her.  Is  that  clear  to  you  both?  We  must  stick  to 
the  same  story.  Into  the  closet  with  her,  Kit." 

Clo  felt  a  strange  sensation,  as  if  her  soul  had  left 
the  body  that  hung  limp  in  Kit's  strong  arms,  and 


274  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

was  gazing  at  it  with  impersonal  pity.  "The  worst 
will  '*be  ended  for  me  in  a  minute,"  she  thought. 
Then,  suddenly,  she  remembered  Justin  O'Reilly. 
A  great  desolation  of  loneliness  swept  over  her.  He 
would  be  sorry.  But  he  was  far  away. 

When  Clo  telephoned,  Ellen  Blackburne  did  not 
even  know  that  the  Sands  were  out  of  New  York. 
The  message,  however,  instantly  awoke  her  sleeping 
interest.  She  guessed  that  Clo  had  tracked  the 
thief,  and  that  what  she  called  the  "weird  address" 
given  was  the  "lair."  Miss  Blackburne  was  no 
coward,  and  the  astonishing  request  that  came  over 
the  telephone  wires  did  not  frighten  her.  She  pre- 
pared to  follow  instructions  at  once,  taking  only 
one  precaution.  Before  starting,  she  left  word  that 
if  she  did  not  'phone  or  return  within  an  hour,  in- 
quiries were  to  be  made  at  the  house  and  in  the  street 
whose  number  she  wrote  down. 

The  pearl-stringer  did,  therefore,  precisely  what  she 
had  been  asked  to  do.  She  abandoned  the  work  laid 
out  for  the  morning,  and  dashed  off  in  a  taxi  on  a 
moment's  notice.  Clo's  little  face  at  the  window  of 
a  tenth-rate  boarding-house  told  her  nothing  new. 
Clo  was  always  pale.  When  the  girl  dropped  to  her 
knees  it  looked  to  Ellen  as  if  that  attitude  were  more 
convenient  for  throwing  down  the  bag.  No  sound 
of  a  pistol  shot  reached  Ellen's  ears  over  the  noises 
of  the  street.  She  heard  only  the  "teuf-teuf"  of 
her  own  taxi,  and  the  snort  of  a  big  gray  car  which 
had  at  that  instant  come  to  a  stop  close  by.  Miss 


THE  TIME  LIMIT  OF  HOPE          275 

Blackburne  was  used  to  odd  adventures,  and  prided 
herself  on  "keeping  cool,"  but  she  could  not  help 
giving  an  undignified  jump  as  a  man  sprang  out  of 
the  gray  limousine  and  laid  a  hand  on  her  arm. 

"What  is  in  that  bag  and  where  are  you  taking  it? 
I've  a  right  to  know,"  he  said  sharply.  "I'm  a  friend 
of  Miss  Riley." 

Ellen  grabbed  at  the  door  of  her  taxi.  The  man 
was  about  thirty  or  thirty-two,  she  thought,  certainly 
a  gentleman  and  rather  handsome.  "I'm  acting  for 
Miss  Riley,"  she  returned  as  sharply.  "My  name's 
Blackburne.  Clo's  in  a  hurry  for  me  to  do  an  errand. 
If  you're  really  her  friend,  you'd  better  let  me  get 
away  while  you  look  after  her." 

The  two  eyed  each  other  for  an  instant.  "You 
are  Miss  Ellen  Blackburne,  the  pearl-stringer? "  the 
man  inquired. 

"The  same,"  she  answered. 

"Then  go  on  her  errand!"  he  exclaimed.  And 
while  Ellen  stared,  he  ran  up  the  steps  of  the  house 
where  a  companion  had  already  rung  the  bell. 
Neither  of  the  men  looked  again  at  her.  Ellen 
waited  for  no  more.  To  save  delay  and  further 
suspense  for  Mrs.  Sands  she  drove  straight  to  the 
Park  Avenue  house,  in  order  to  string  the  pearls 
there:  for  she  had  hastily  collected  her  materials  be- 
fore starting.  It  was  a  blow  to  hear  from  the  hall 
porter  that  the  Sands  had  already  left  New  York; 
she  decided  on  going  up  to  get  further  information. 
She  even  thought  of  sending  a  long-distance  message 
to  Beverley  from  her  own  flat;  but  the  grim  personal- 


276  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

ity  of  Anna  Schultz  banished  this  idea  at  a  glance. 
Ellen  realized  that  if  she  asked  to  enter  the  apart- 
ment she  would  be  regarded  as  a  suspicious  charac- 
ter. Important  business  with  Mrs.  Sands  would  take 
her  to  Newport  immediately,  she  told  Miss  Schultz. 
If  there  were  any  letter  or  parcel  to  be  sent  she  would 
carry  it. 

Anna's  reply  to  this  offer  was  a  stiff  refusal,  but 
Miss  Blackburne  had  not  reached  the  lift  when  the 
woman  came  after  her.  "I've  just  remembered, 
there's  a  telegram  for  Mrs.  Sands'  French  maid,  you 
might  give  her  by  hand,  if  you're  going  to  Newport 
to-day,"  she  said,  with  a  grudging  air.  "It  will  be 
quicker  than  posting."  Anna  Schultz  slipped  the 
envelope  into  Ellen's  hand,  and  turned  away  without 
waiting  for  an  answer. 

Having  telephoned  to  the  jewellers  where  she 
was  employed,  Ellen  decided  to  string  the  pearls  at 
home.  She  dared  not  dash  off  to  Newport  without 
seeing  her  mother,  and  arranging  with  a  neighbour 
to  stop  in  the  house  while  she  was  gone.  On  second 
thoughts,  she  told  herself  that,  for  Mrs.  Sands*  own 
sake,  it  might  be  best  not  to  risk  a  reassuring  message 
of  any  sort  in  advance.  Someone  else  might  hap- 
pen to  receive  it!  She  determined  simply  to  work 
as  fast  as  possible,  and  take  the  first  train  she  could 
catch  for  Newport,  with  the  re-strung  rope  of  pearls. 

Beverley  dreaded  the  night  of  the  dance  more  even 
than  she  had  dreaded  her  mission,  nearly  a  year  ago, 
in  Albuquerque. 


THE  TIME  LIMIT  OF  HOPE         277 

It  seemed  very  long  since  she  had  been  radiantly 
happy  in  the  thought  of  this  glorified  cottage  at 
Newport — "Gulls'  Rest" — Roger's  present  to  her. 
She  hated  it  now,  and  everything  associated  with  it; 
the  fuss  of  settling  into  the  place,  in  a  foolish  hurry, 
though  the  Newport  season  had  not  yet  begun: 
Roger's  determination  to  begin  with  a  house-party 
and  a  dance;  his  civil,  quiet  coldness  to  her;  the 
strange  look  she  caught  in  his  eyes  at  times;  the  mys- 
tery of  Clo's  silence,  which  deepened  day  by  day; 
fear  of  reprisals  for  loss  of  the  papers;  these  things 
seemed  harder  to  bear  in  Newport  than  at  home  hi 
New  York.  Often  Beverley  wondered  how  long  she 
would  be  sane. 

The  Sands  had  brought  with  them  a  couple  of 
friends :  two  others  had  joined  them  the  day  after,  and 
half  a  dozen  more  had  come  since.  Roger  had  en- 
gaged all  the  rooms  in  a  small  but  delightful  hotel  for 
extra  guests  who  would  arrive  for  the  dance  and  stay 
the  night;  and,  in  advance  of  the  season  as  the  house- 
warming  was,  word  had  gone  out  that  the  entertain- 
ment would  be  worth  a  long  journey.  The  favours 
for  the  cotillon  were  said  to  have  cost  ten  thousand 
dollars;  and  there  was  to  be  a  "surprise"  of  some 
sort.  Perhaps  this  was  the  reason  why  Mrs.  Heron 
changed  her  mind,  and  John  Heron  wired  to  Roger 
that  he  and  his  wife  would  be  pleased  to  come  on 
from  Narragansett,  where  they  were  spending  a  week- 
end for  Heron's  health. 

The  invitation  had  been  sent  to  the  Herons  by 
Roger's  firmly  expressed  wish,  but  Beverley  had  not 


278  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

dreamed  that  it  would  be  accepted.  And,  after  all, 
they  were  both  coming  to  the  dance!  This  seemed 
ominous.  It  gave  her  one  more  fear  for  the  dreaded 
night. 

Through  the  morning  she  still  wildly  hoped  for 
news  from  Clo.  Even  as  the  afternoon  wore  on 
she  did  not  utterly  despair;  but  at  six  o'clock,  when 
Roger  advised  her  and  the  other  women  staying  in 
the  house  to  rest  till  dressing-time,  she  definitely 
gave  up.  For  the  first  time  since  that  Sunday  night 
which  marked  the  end  of  happiness,  Roger  slipped 
his  hand  under  her  arm  in  a  friendly,  familiar 
way. 

"Come  along,"  he  said.  "I'll  trot  you  up  to  your 
room  and  see  that  you  lie  down.  I  want  you  to  look 
your  best  to-night;  and  you  know  dinner's  at  eight. 
You  won't  have  more  than  an  hour's  nap.  I  suppose 
it'll  take  you  at  least  an  hour  to  dress?" 

"Just  about,"  Beverley  answered,  dully.  She 
knew  that  she  could  not  sleep,  but  she  was  worn  out 
with  the  effort  of  "keeping  up"  before  her  guests. 
She  expected  Roger  to  leave  her  at  the  door  of  her 
room,  which  he  had  entered  only  when  the  house 
was  being  shown  to  friends;  but  to  her  surprise, 
almost  alarm,  he  followed  her  in.  She  said  that  she 
would  not  ring  yet  for  Leontine.  She  would  unfasten 
her  own  frock  and  find  her  own  dressing-gown. 

"I'll  draw  the  curtains  for  you,"  Roger  suggested,  in 
the  coolly  kind  manner  to  which  she  had  grown  accus- 
tomed during  the  black  fortnight.  "One  rests  one's 
brain  best  in  twilight,  I  think.  I'm  sure  you  need 


THE  TIME  LIMIT  OF  HOPE          279 

rest.     I  never  saw  you  so  pale.     I  hope  you're  not 
worried  about  to-night?'* 

"  Worried ?  Why  should  I  be  worried  ?"  she  echoed. 
"I'm  sure  everything  will  go  well,  aren't  you?"  ' 

"I  hope  so,"  he  said,  gravely.  "You  haven't 
shown  me  your  new  dress.  I  suppose  it's  come?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  Beverley  replied,  convinced  that  it 
was  not  about  the  dress  he  thought  or  cared.  "It 
came  the  day  after  we  arrived." 

"Good!  Then  you'll  be  able  to  do  full  justice  to 
the  pearls ! " 

Beverley  had  the  impulse  to  throw  herself  into  her 
husband's  arms  and  upon  his  mercy;  but  she  would 
not,  or  could  not — she  hardly  knew  which.  It  seemed 
to  her  that  he  was  being  purposely  cruel,  and  was  de- 
liberately testing,  torturing  her,  to  see  how  much  she 
could  bear  and  not  break.  "Let  him  find  out  when 
the  time  comes,"  she  thought,  in  sullen  despair. 
Instead  of  confessing  her  trouble  she  asked  if  he 
would  like  to  see  her  new  gown. 

"No,"  Roger  said.  "I'll  wait  till  you're  ready 
and  I  can  see  you  in  your  glory — pearls  and  all." 

Beverley  merely  smiled  an  answer,  and  wondered 
what  Roger  thought  of  her  smile.  He  drew  the  cur- 
tain, and  led  her  to  rest,  asking  at  the  door  that  she 
would  promise  to  call  him  when  she  was  dressed.  "I 
want  to  have  a  good  look  at  you  before  you  go  down- 
stairs," he  added  as  he  went  out. 

Adjoining  Beverley's  bedroom  was  a  small  room 
whose  wall  appeared  to  be  composed  entirely  of 
mirrors.  It  was  a  glorified  wardrobe  with  mirror 


280  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

doors,  and  light  and  ventilation  came  from  above. 
Behind  the  mirror  doors  were  deep  closets,  some  of 
which  were  lined  with  cedar,  others  with  sandal  wood; 
and  at  the  back  of  one  was  an  ingeniously  concealed 
safe.  In  this  safe  Mrs.  Roger  Sands'  jewels  had 
already  been  placed,  and  among  them  was  the  empty 
case  which  had  contained  the  queen's  pearls.  Bev- 
erley  slid  back  the  sandalwood  panel,  and  opened 
the  steel  door  behind  it,  which  was  manipulated  by  a 
miniature  time-lock. 

"Suppose  I  wear  diamonds  and  emeralds,"  she 
thought,  "and  tell  Roger  they  match  better  with  my 
dress  than  the  pearls — that  I'll  wear  the  pearls 
another  time?" 

But  at  the  best  this  would  only  postpone  the  evil 
moment. 

She  took  off  her  dress  of  embroidered  white  organ- 
die, and  put  on  a  robe  de  chambre.  Then  she  dropped 
wearily  down  on  a  great,  cushiony  sofa,  not  to  rest, 
but  because  she  had  nothing  else  to  do. 

It  was  very  still  in  her  room,  save  for  a  far-off 
murmur  of  waves  below  the  rocks.  When  she  had 
remained  thus  for  about  three  quarters  of  an  hour 
she  sprang  up,  her  brain  throbbing  more  feverishly, 
her  body  quivering  more  uncontrollably  than  when 
she  had  lain  down.  It  was  close  upon  seven  o'clock, 
and  she  rang  for  Leontine.  Her  hair  had  to  be 
done,  and  the  whole  process  of  dressing  would  need 
quite  an  hour. 

'I  daresay  Mary  Stuart  took  a  lot  of  pains  dress- 
ing to  have  her  head  cut  off,"  she  thought  bitterly. 


THE  TIME  LIMIT  OF  HOPE         281 

Leontine  came,  and  made  ready  her  mistress's 
bath.  She  emptied  a  bottle  of  eau  de  Cologne  into 
the  tepid  water,  but  for  once  the  refreshing  scent 
failed  to  revive  Beverley.  She  was  like  a  creature 
in  a  dream  as  Leontine  wound  her  long  hair  in  bands 
round  her  head  (a  new  fashion  Roger  had  fallen  in 
love  with  a  few  weeks  ago),  fastening  it  here  and 
there  with  diamond  pins.  "Madame  will  be  late  if 
we  are  not  careful,"  the  Frenchwoman  said.  "Every- 
thing takes  so  long  to-night."  She  laid  on  the  floor 
at  Beverley's  feet  a  cloud  of  silver  gauze,  supple  as 
chiffon.  It  was  the  new  dress  and  Madame  must 
step  into  it  to  avoid  ruffling  her  hair.  Beverley 
obeyed,  and  when  her  arms  had  slid  into  the  odd  little 
jewelled  sleeves,  she  let  Leontine  draw  her  gently  in 
front  of  a  mirror. 

"Madame  is  like  a  marvellous  statue  of  ivory  and 
silver,"  the  maid  exclaimed.  "But  she  should  have 
some  colour.  If  Madame — but  no,  it  is  too  late. 
There  is  a  knock.  It  will  be  Monsieur.  Shall  I 
open  the  door?" 

'Yes,  open  the  door."  Beverley  echoed.  Her 
voice  sounded  metallic  and  unnatural  in  her  own  ears. 


XXXVI 
"WE  DO  THINGS  QUICKLY  OVER  HERE" 

"Is  THIS  heaven?'*  Clo  wondered. 

"No,  you  darling,  it's  not.  It's  our  same  poor  old 
world;  but  it'll  be  near  heaven  if  you'll  get  well  and 
live  for  me,"  said  Justin  O'Reilly.  Then  it  seemed 
to  the  girl  that  she  heard  a  very  odd,  choking  sound, 
and  on  to  her  half -parted  lips  fell  a  drop  of  something 
hot.  She  tasted  this,  and  found  it  salt. 

"You — you  can't  be  crying?"  she  mumbled. 

"I  am."  O'Reilly  answered,  "crying  with  joy.  I 
don't  remember  doing  it  before — in  joy  or  sorrow. 
Here  goes  another  tear!  Sorry!  I  couldn't  help 
spilling  it  on  you.  Shan't  happen  again." 

O'Reilly's  face  was  close  to  hers.  She  smiled  up 
at  him.  Everything  seemed  strange  except  that 
he  should  call  her  darling.  That,  somehow,  was 
not  strange  at  all.  Nor  was  it  strange  that  his  head 
should  be  bent  over  her  upturned  face.  Yet  he 
said  it  was  the  same  poor  old  world ! 

"I  thought  I  was  dead,"  she  explained. 

**I  thought  so,  too,  for  a  minute,  and  it  was  the 
worst  minute  and  the  worst  thought  I  ever  had. 
But  you're  alive.  And  you're  going  to  live.  I  tell 
you  that  on  the  doctor's  authority.  He  and  the 
nurse  are  having  a  confab  in  the  next  room.  In 

282 


"WE  DO  THINGS  QUICKLY"         283 

fact,  when  we  saw  you  coming  to  all  right,  after  the 
anaesthetic  (a  bullet  had  to  come  out  of  your  poor 
little  shoulder!)  I  asked  them  to  leave  me  alone  with 
you.  I  wanted  to  be  the  first  one  your  eyes  saw. 
You're  going  to  live  for  me,  aren't  you?  Because  I 
adore  you,  you  know!" 

"I  know,"  the  girl  echoed,  floating  on  a  strange, 
bright  wave  of  joy. 

"You  know  I  adore  you?" 

"Something  told  me  it  would  come  out  like  that," 
she  said.  "In  those  long  days  when  I  had  to  lie  still 
in  my  room  and  listen  to  Kit  and  Churn,  another  voice 
— so  different  from  theirs ! — seemed  to  say  it  in  my  ear. 
Your  message  for  me  in  the  newspaper — I  was  sure 
it  was  for  me — put  it  into  my  head.  I  couldn't  an- 
swer. But  the  message  was  the  greatest  comfort!  I 
didn't  feel  alone  after  that." 

"  Precious  one !  You're  a  star  heroine,  and  a  martyr 
and  a  saint,  and  I  don't  know  what  not.  But  most  of 
all,  you  are  my  life — my  very  life.  I've  had  a  big 
disappointment  since  I  parted  from  you — lost  a  thing 
I'd  wanted  for  years — lost  it  to  Roger  Sands.  His 
revenge  for — I  hardly  know  what!  Yet  finding  you 
and  holding  you  like  this  shows  me  that  nothing  else 
matters.  What's  a  house,  anyhow,  except  this  darling 
house  not  made  with  hands — your  little  body,  house 
of  your  soul?  When  you  know  me  better,  could  you 
learn  to  love  me,  do  you  think,  if  I  try  hard  to  teach 
you?" 

"Oh,  but  I  do  love  you  already,"  said  Clo,  as  a 
matter  of  course.  "Even  that  first  night — there 


284  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

was  something  about  you — I  hated  to  cheat  and  rob 
you  the  way  I  did.  And  it  was  wonderful  hearing 
your  voice  in  the  telephone,  in  Peterson's  dreadful 
room.  It  wasn't  only  that  I  hoped  you'd  help,  it 
was  because  it  was  you — because  you  were  different 
for  me  from  anybody  else,  different  even  from  Angel." 

"Good  Lord,  I  should  hope  so!" 

"And  I've  wanted  you  dreadfully  ever  since. 
That's  why  I  thought  it  must  be  heaven  when  I 
woke  up  just  now  and  saw  you." 

"You  angel!" 

"How  funny  you  should  call  me  that.  Oh,  I've 
almost  forgotten  my  poor  Angel!  I  must  get  to 
her,  somehow."  Clo  looked  around  hastily,  and 
realized  that  she  was  lying  on  a  bed  in  a  peculiarly 
unattractive  room,  and  that  O'Reilly  was  kneeling  on 
the  floor  by  the  bedside.  "How  wicked  of  me  to 
think  more  about  you  than  her!" 

"If  you  mean  Mrs.  Sands,  you  shall  go  to  her  when 
you're  able.  Mrs.  Sands  is  all  right.  You  sent 
her  something  rather  important  by  Miss  Black- 
burne,  the  pearl-stringer  that  you  told  me  about 
that  night  in  the  taxi — and  in  Krantz's  Keller.  I 
talked  to  the  woman — and  cursed  myself  afterward 
for  stopping  to  speak,  when  I  found  you  and  saw  how 
every  instant  had  counted.  I  oughtn't  to  have 
waited  even  for  a  second." 

"Oh,  you  couldn't  have  saved  me  if  you'd  come  up 
without  speaking  to  Ellen.  The  shot  was  fired  before 
I  threw  out  the  bag  with  the  pearls,"  Clo  broke  in. 
"I  remember  now.  Someone  fired  through  the  hole 


"WE  DO  THINGS  QUICKLY"         285 

in  the  door.  It  was  Chuff,  I'm  sure.  It  didn't 
hurt  much.  It  was  like  a  heavy  blow,  and  I  couldn't 
help  dropping  on  my  knees  at  the  window.  I  felt 
weak  and  queer,  but  I  called  to  Ellen.  Then  some- 
body picked  me  up — Kit,  I  think.  I  could  hear  them 
arguing  what  to  do  with  me.  Funny!  I  thought 
of  you  then — and  that's  the  last  I  remember  till 
now." 

"I  must  have  been  in  the  house  by  that  time," 
O'Reilly  soothed  her.  "I  had  come  for  you!  I  was 
sure  you'd  be  where  Kit  was,  because  of  the  pearls. 
Denham  and  I  had  been  trying  to  track  Churn  and 
Kit  and  Chuff — all  the  lot  you  told  me  about — ever 
since  you  turned  me  down,  in  Krantz's  Keller." 

"I  didn't  turn  you  down!" 

"No,  I  don't  mean  that!  You  were  a  brave  little 
soldier  going  into  battle  on  your  own." 

"A  soldier?    No,  I  was  only  a  mouse." 

"I  know.  'The  lion's  mouse.'  And  to  gnaw  the 
net  the  lion  was  caught  in,  you  had  to  stick  your 
head  into  another  lion's  den.  But  some  memo- 
randa you'd  picked  up  and  left  for  us  put  Denhain 
on  the  right  trail.  He  doesn't  need  much  of  a 
pointer,  that  chap !  He  fairly  jumped  on  to  the  track 
of  a  fellow  named  Isaacs — at  least  Isaacs  is  his  'alias' 
— a  man  who's  been  suspected  for  a  long  time  as  a 
receiver  of  stolen  goods — a  fence.  When  I  got  the 
tip  that  Kit  and  Churn  were  staying  in  the  house 
where  we  were'to  spot  Chuff,  I  was  sure  I  had  the  clue 
to  you.  I  wish  to  God  we'd  been  five  minutes 
earlier;  but  I  thank  Hun  we  weren't  five  minutes 


286  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

» 

too  late!     If  the  police  eventually  bring  the  crime 

home  to  Kit  (that's  improbable,  Denham  thinks) 
there's  nothing  to  link  up  the  story  with  the  name  of 
Mrs.  Sands." 

"Oh,  I'm  not  sure!"  breathed  Clo.  "Kit  knows 
about  her.  She  told  Churn." 

"  She  won't  tell  any  one  else,  you  may  depend  on 
that.  If  she's  accused  of  the  murder,  she  won't 
confess  to  stealing  somebody's  pearls  as  her  motive. 
She'll  say  that  Peterson  insulted  her,  and  she  feared 
him;  some  sob-sister  stuff  of  that  sort." 

"She  did  complain  to  Churn  that  Pete  was  horri- 
ble to  her,  and  that  if  Churn  had  been  there  to  hear 
what  he  said,  he'd  have  killed  him  quick,"  Clo 
remembered. 

"You  see,  she  wanted  to  clear  herself  in  the  eyes 
of  her  best  young  man!  How  much  more  anxious 
she'd  be  to  keep  on  the  same  line  if  it  came  to  saving 
herself  from  the  Chair!  You  can  make  your  mind 
easy  about  your  friend  Mrs.  Sands.  I  won't  say  a 
word  against  her.  You  love  her.  You  may  be 
right,  I  may  be  wrong.  I'm  growing  humble.  I 
don't  set  my  judgment  against  yours,  even  though  I 
know  some  things  about  the  lady  which  it's  probable 
you  don't  know.  But  she's  been  good  to  you.  That 
makes  all  the  difference  to  me.  She's  to  be  saved 
from  the  consequences  of  things  which — you'll  never 
hear  from  my  lips.  Saved  she  shall  be  if  it  depends 
at  all  on  yours  ever.  But  you've  done  so  much  that 
little  more  remains." 

"Then  you'll  give  her  the  papers?" 


"WE  DO  THINGS  QUICKLY"         287 

"The  papers  you  returned  to  me  that  Sunday 
night?" 

"It  wasn't  I  who  returned  them.  I  don't  know 
who  did  send  them.  It's  the  greatest  mystery !  But 
if  you  love  me,  you'll  hand  them  back." 

O'Reilly  looked  grave.  "I  love  you,"  he  said, 
"more  than  I  ever  thought  it  was  in  me  to  love, 
though  I  had  an  idea  it  might  go  hard  with  me  when 
my  time  came.  But  I  gave  the  papers  to  Heron, 
whose  property  they  were — and  are.  I  was  only 
keeping  them  for  him  because  he  had  reason  to  think 
they  weren't  safe  in  his  possession." 

"John  Heron!"  Clo  echoed.  A  thought  had  sud- 
denly started  out  from  the  background  of  her  mind, 
pushing  in  front  of  her  fears  for  Beverley.  "Yes, 
of  course,  he's  a  friend  of  yours!  But  he's  in  worse 
danger  than  his  papers  ever  were.  From  things  they 
said,  I  believe  Pete  came  East  on  purpose  to  kill  him. 
Of  course,  there  were  the  papers  to  get  as  well.  But 
he  wanted  to  kill  John  Heron.  It  was  Chuff  who 
ordered  him  to  get  the  papers.  Pete  had  some 
grudge  of  his  own  against  Mr.  Heron,  so  he  made  a 
good  catspaw.  When  Pete  was  killed,  Chuff  had 
to  find  someone  else  to  do  the  job.  I  don't  know 
John  Heron,  and  never  saw  him  in  my  life,  so  I " 

"There  you're  mistaken,"  O'Reilly  broke  in. 
"Did  you  notice  any  one  coming  out  of  a  room  next 
to  my  suite  when  you  were  letting  yourself  in  with 
my  key  which  you  had — er — found?" 

"  Yes ! "  cried  Clo.  "  A  beautiful  woman  in  a  black 
dress  with  gorgeous  jewellery;  and  a  tall  man  with 


288  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

reddish  hair  and  beard  and — Oh,  eyes!  Great  dark 
eyes  that  looked  at  me  in  a  strange  way.  I  felt 
them  in  my  spine." 

"That  was  the  first  time  you  saw  John  Heron,  the 
man  his  enemies  still  call  the  Oil  Trust  King — though 
thanks  to  Roger  Sands  they  daren't  call  him  that 
out  aloud.  The  second  time  must  have  been  in 
Heron's  own  room.  But  you  shall  judge  for  your- 
self. He'd  been  downstairs  with  his  wife.  He 
went  up  to  his  rooms  again  for  something,  and  in  the 
hall  outside  his  own  door — which  he'd  just  unlocked 
— he  fell  down  in  a  sort  of  fainting  fit.  Well,  putting 
two  and  two  together,  after  you  told  me  your  adven- 
ture creeping  along  the  ledge,  from  my  window  to 
his,  it  occurred  to  me  that  there'd  been  just  cause  for 
the  seizure.  I  didn't  think  Heron  was  the  man  to 
keel  over  in  a  faint,  even  for  a  thing  like  that.  All 
the  same,  seeing  that  ghostly  vision  would  account 
for  his  attack." 

"I  understand,"  said  Clo.  "I  saw  he  was  flabber- 
gasted. But  that  first  time  at  the  door,  when  he  was 
with  his  wife,  he  didn't  look  at  me  as  if  I  were  a 
stranger.  It  was  as  if  he  knew  me,  and  almost  fell 
over  himself  to  see  me  again.  That  was  the  feeling 
I  had,  but  I  was — a  little  excited." 

"Most  girls  would  have  been  corpses!" 

"I  felt  like  a  live  coal.  But  we  mustn't  let  the 
gang  make  a  corpse  of  Mr.  Heron,  must  we?  Let's 
warn  him.  Where  are  we,  anyhow?" 

"  Same  house  you  were  in.  Doctor  said  it  wouldn't 
be  safe  to  move  you.  We  disinfected  the  best  we 


could  in  a  hurry,  and  he  extracted  the  bullet  from 
your  poor  little  shoulder.  Thank  God,  I  was  in  time, 
or  there  might  have  been  another  bullet  or  two,  that 
couldn't  be  extracted !  You're  all  right  now,  or  will 
be  with  a  little  rest,  and  we'll  get  you  into  a  nursing 
home.  As  for  Heron,  he  and  his  wife  have  gone  to 
Narragansett.  That's  close  to  Newport,  you  know, 
where  Mrs.  Sands  is." 

"Angel  in  Newport  already!  Then  the  pearls — 
but  I  told  Ellen  Blackburne  to  take  them  there  if 
she  had  to.  Do  you  think  she  will?" 

"Sure!     She'll  catch  the  first  train." 

"No.  She  won't  do  that.  She  thinks  of  her 
mother  before  everything.  But  the  ball's  not  till 
to-morrow.  Angel  won't  need  the  pearls  till  then. 
Oh,  if  I  could  be  sure  she'll  get  them!  I  can't  rest 
till  I'm  sure.  I  must  go  to  Newport.  I  must." 

"When  you're  strong  enough." 

"I'm  strong  enough  now.     Is  it  late?" 

"Getting  on  toward  evening.  You  were  a  long 
time  coming  to  yourself.  Presently  the  doctor  will 
say  whether  you  can  be  moved  to-night  to  that 
nursing  home." 

"If  I  can  be  moved  to  a  nursing  home  I  can  be 
moved  to  Newport.  Tell  the  doctor  I  shall  burst  if  I 
can't  go." 

"You  may  tell  him  yourself." 

"I  must  go.  I  must  know  if  all  goes  right  with 
the  pearls.  I  must  know  if  it's  better  or  worse  for 
Angel  that  Stephen's  dead." 

"Stephen's  dead!" 


290  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

"Yes.     Did  you  know  him?'* 

"I  know  of  him.     He  is " 

"Don't  tell  me.  She  mightn't  want  me  to  hear. 
I  haven't  heard  anything  except  that  Kit  and  Churn 
talked  about  his  having  died,  and  said  Angel  had  been 
cheated." 

"By  Jove,  I  begin  to  see  light." 

"Now  you  see  why  I  must  go  to  her?  And  you've 
forgotten  maybe  what  I  told  you  about  Mr.  Heron. 
If  he's  near  Newport,  I 

"Look  here,  darling,  if  the  doctor  says  you  can  be 
taken  there  to-morrow — oh,  in  time  to  arrive  before 
the  famous  ball — let's  say  in  a  comfortable  motor 
car,  travelling  slowly,  banked  up  on  cushions,  will 
you  go  as  my  wife?" 

Clo  stared  as  if  O'Reilly  had  broken  into  some 
strange  language  which  he  expected  her  to  under- 
stand. "Your  wife?" 

"Well — don't  you  expect  to  marry  me?  That's 
what  happens  when  a  girl  and  a  man  love  each  other." 

"Oh — some  day — if  you're  sure  you  really  want 
an  ignorant  little  girl  like  me,  brought  up  in  an 
orphan  asylum,  who's  worked  in  a  shop  and  hasn't 
a  penny  in  the  world — except  a  dollar  or  two  left  of 
Mrs.  Sands'  money.  A  long  time  from  now,  when 
you've  thought  about  it " 

"I've  thought  of  nothing  else  since  we  met  and 
parted,  and  I  realized  that  you  were  my  life  and  soul. 
If  you  can  make  up  your  mind  to  'some  day,'  it 
might  just  as  well  be  to-morrow.  Don't  you  want 
to  console  me  for  the  loss  of  the  only  other  thing, 


"WE  DO  THINGS  QUICKLY" 

besides  you,  I've  ever  wanted  with  all  my  heart? 
You  do  if  you  love  me.  The  dear  old  house  that  was 
my  father's!  You  know,  when  you  sent  up  your 
name  at  the  Dietz  as  Miss  O'Reilly,  I  believed  you 
were  my  cranky  cousin  Theresa,  come  to  tell  me  she'd 
changed  her  mind  about  selling  the  house.  Why, 
you  owe  it  to  me,  if  you  care,  to  make  up  for  that. 
Your  Angel's  husband  has  bribed  Theresa  to  sell  to 
him.  The  place  has  passed  away  from  me  forever. 
But  if  you'll  marry  me  to-night  I  shan't  care.  In 
the  joy  of  being  husband — and  nurse — to  the  bravest 
and  dearest  mouse  in  the  world  I'll  forget  everything 
and  be  the  happiest  man  on  God's  earth." 

"People  don't  get  married  at  a  few  hours'  notice.'* 

"Don't  they?  How  long  have  you  lived  in  the 
United  States,  my  Irish  colleen?" 

"Months.  Over  a  year.  But  I  never  discussed 
marriage." 

"I'm  jolly  glad  you  didn't.  But  you'll  hear  of 
nothing  else  till  the  knot's  tied.  We  do  things 
quickly  over  here." 

Then  the  door  opened,  and  the  doctor  came  in. 


XXXVII 
THE  TELEGRAM 

ROGER  SANDS  had  hardly  known  himself  for  many 
days.  His  wife  had  read  him  aright.  At  times  he 
was  purposely  cruel.  At  times  he  did  wish  to  see 
how  much  she  could  bear  and  not  break.  Yet  if  she 
had  broken,  he  felt  that  he  could  not  have  helped 
seizing  her  in  his  arms  and  forgiving  her. 

While  he  dressed  that  night  he  hoped  that  she 
would  send  for  him,  or  come  to  him,  and  confess  that 
the  pearls  were  gone,  that  she  had  given  them  to 
O'Reilly,  whom  she  had  once  loved,  and  whom  she 
loved  no  more. 

But  she  neither  sent  nor  came.  She  was  bluffing 
it  out  to  the  last.  He  might  have  known  she  would 
do  that,  although  he  had  taken  her  to  her  room  to  give 
her  one  more  chance  to  repent.  At  half -past  seven  he 
was  ready,  but  he  waited  quietly  ten  minutes.  Then 
he  went  to  his  door,  meaning — as  he  said  to  himself 
roughly — to  "get  the  thing  over."  But  he  paused 
with  his  hand  on  the  knob.  He  thought  that  he 
heard  a  woman's  voice  saying:  "May  I  come  in?" 

His  muttered  comment  upon  one  of  his  and  Bever- 
ley's  guests,  whom  he  supposed  the  intruder  to  be, 
was  far  from  flattering.  Perhaps,  however,  it  would 
be  well  not  to  find  his  wife  alone.  He  would  give 

292 


THE  TELEGRAM  293 

Beverley  a  few  minutes  more,  to  be  sure  that  her 
dress  was  on,  before  he  went  to  interrupt  the  chorus 
of  mutual  admiration;  but  no  woman's  presence 
should  prevent  him  from  asking  the  question  he 
meant  to  ask — "Where  are  your  pearls?" 

At  exactly  eight  minutes  to  eight  Roger  ceased 
his  restless  tramp  up  and  down  the  room,  and  stopped 
again  at  the  door.  Before  he  could  open  it,  however, 
there  was  a  light  tap — a  tap  like  Beverley's  in  happier 
days.  "Can  she  mean,  after  all,  to  tell  me  the 
truth?"  he  wondered;  and  he  heard  his  voice  saying 
mechanically,  "Come  in." 

Beverley  came  in;  Roger's  room  was  full  of  light, 
and  as  his  wife  entered  she  faced  it.  She  glittered 
from  head  to  foot  like  an  ice  maiden  under  a  blazing 
sun.  She  wore  a  wreath  of  diamond  roses;  round  her 
waist  was  a  girdle  of  diamonds  with  long  tasselled 
ends;  on  her  white  satin  shoes  were  diamond  buckles; 
and  over  her  bare,  white  neck,  her  young  gauze- 
enfolded  bosom,  hung  the  rope  of  the  queen's  pearls. 

"  I  thought  you  were  coming  in  to  see  me  dressed?  " 
she  said  calmly.  "Did  you  forget?" 

For  answer  Roger  stared.  He  stepped  back  into 
the  room,  and  let  Beverley  shut  the  door.  She  stood 
before  him  smiling,  though,  if  he  had  analyzed  her 
smile,  he  would  have  said  that  it  was  sad.  "How 
do  you  think  I  look?"  she  asked,  when  he  did  not 
speak.  "I  hope  you're  not  disappointed?" 

"You  have  had  those  pearls  copied!"  he  flung  at 
her. 

Beverley    blushed    bright    crimson.     She    under- 


294  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

stood  instantly  what  he  meant  and  thought,  but  she 
had  not  gone  through  tortures  and  been  relieved  at 
the  last  moment  to  be  beaten  down  now. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  asked,  her  eyes  steady, 
her  head  up. 

"You  thought  I  didn't  know.  But  I  have  known 
from  the  first.  I  found  out  by  accident.  I  always 
hoped  you'd  some  day  tell  me  the  truth.  This  is  a 
cowardly  thing  you've  done.'" 

Beverley  was  again  ivory  pale.  "Are  you  a  judge 
of  pearls,  Roger?"  she  coldly  inquired. 

"Yes,"  he  said. 

She  lifted  the  rope  over  her  head  and  thrust  it, 
against  his  will,  into  his  hands.  "Make  any  test 
you  wish,  and  decide  whether  these  are  the  pearls 
you  gave  me  or  an  imitation." 

Hardly  knowing  what  he  did,  he  walked  to  a  table, 
on  which  stood  a  tall  lamp  that  gave  a  brilliant  light. 
Beverley  watched  him.  There  was  no  emotion 
whatever  on  her  face.  After  a  moment  he  spoke: 
"These  are  genuine  pearls,  "he  admitted,  after  a  heavy 
silence.  "And  I  have  reason  to  believe  from  certain 
marks  that  they  are  the  pearls  I  bought  for  you,  the 
queen's  pearls.  If  you  give  me  your  word,  that  since 
I  put  them  into  your  hands  you  did  not  part  with 
them  to  Justin  O'Reilly,  as  I  have  believed,  I  will 
beg  your  forgiveness  on  the  knees  of  my  soul.  I  will 
confess  to  you — as  I  once  expected  you  to  confess  to 
me." 

"Hush!  There's  someone  at  the  door!"  Bever- 
ley cut  him  short. 


THE  TELEGRAM  295 

It  was  Leon  tine  who  knocked,  and  paused  on  the 
threshold.  "Will  Madame  have  the  kindness  to 
step  into  the  hall,"  she  asked.  As  her  mistress 
moved  toward  her,  she  retired,  and  it  was  not  until 
they  both  stood  at  some  distance  from  the  door  that 
the  Frenchwoman  spoke. 

"I  beg  Madame's  pardon  for  disturbing  her,"  she 
apologized,  "but  I  dare  not  delay.  The  lady,  Mees 
Blackburne,  if  that  is  her  name,  was  about  to  start 
back  to  town,  but  remembered  a  commission  she  had 
been  given  at  the  apartment;  to  bring  a  telegram  for 
me.  I  opened  it,  to  find  that  for  me  there  is  no  sense. 
I  know  no  Stephen;  but " 

"Stephen!"  Beverley  gasped  the  name,  and 
snatched  from  the  woman's  hand  an  open  telegram 
she  held.  She  read  it,  and  then  without  a  word  or 
cry,  collapsed  in  a  dead  faint.  With  a  shriek  of  fear 
Leontine  tried  to  catch  the  swaying  figure;  but  the 
best  she  could  do  was  to  break  the  fall.  When  Roger 
reached  the  door  it  was  to  find  Beverley  in  a  white 
heap  on  the  floor  with  the  Frenchwoman  kneeling  by 
her  side.  He  caught  his  wife  up,  and,  carrying  her 
back  into  his  room,  laid  her  on  the  bed. 

"Let  everybody  be  told  that  dinner  will  be  delayed 
half  an  hour,"  he  said,  and  shut  the  door  in  Leon- 
tine's  face*  She  snatched  the  dropped  telegram  and 
whisked  off  to  obey  the  master's  command. 


xxxvm 

WHO  IS  STEPHEN? 

As  ROGER  stood  looking  down  at  Beverley  she 
opened  her  eyes 

"Stephen  is  dead!"  she  muttered.  "Stephen — 
is  dead." 

"Who  is  Stephen?"  Roger  asked  shortly. 

"Oh,  Roger!"  she  appealed  to  him,  breaking  into 
sobs.  "My  poor  Stephen!  I  shall  never  see  him 
again.  All  my  sacrifices — in  vain!" 

"Who  is  Stephen?"  Roger  repeated. 

She  held  up  her  arms,  without  answering  his  ques- 
tions. "Roger — comfort  me!"  she  wept. 

And  for  all  his  life,  no  matter  how  many  years  he 
may  live,  Roger  Sands  will  be  glad  that  he  did  not 
hold  back  from  Beverley  then.  Without  another 
word  he  clasped  her  tightly,  while  she  cried  against 
his  cheek.  Both  had  forgotten  that  there  were  guests, 
that  this  was  the  "big  night"  which  all  the  news- 
papers were  talking  about;  that  already  dinner  was 
late,  and  people  wondering;  that  the  "ball"  was  to 
begin  at  ten-thirty,  and  that  the  Russian  dancers 
who  were  to  open  it,  as  the  great  "surprise,"  would 
soon  be  in  the  house. 

When  Beverley  had  sobbed  until  exhaustion  came, 
she  spoke,  in  a  tiny  voice,  like  that  of  a  tired  little 

296 


WHO  IS  STEPHEN?  297 

girl:  "Because  Stephen  is — safe,  I  can  tell  you 
everything  now.  Will  you  listen,  Roger,  until  the 
end,  whether  you  can  forgive  me  or  no?" 

"Yes,"  Roger  answered.  "But  just  this  before 
you  begin!  I  love  you  so  much,  Beverley,  that  if 
there's  something  to  forgive  it's  forgiven  already." 

"Stephen  was  my  brother,"  she  said,  "the  one 
person  who  belonged  to  me  after  father  died. 
Mother  I  don't  remember.  She  came  of  a  high 
Russian  family  who  were  sent  to  Siberia  as  political 
prisoners.  She  was  only  sixteen,  and  father  saved 
her  by  making  her  his  wife.  I  was  named  'Olga'  after 
her.  But  for  that  dreadful  journey  from  Albuquerque 
I  had  to  have  some  name  that  wouldn't  give  me 
away  when  my  ticket  was  bought.  Stephen  and  I 
were  called  Bevan,  because  father  used  that  name  for 
his  business  in  Russia,  but  his  own  name  was  Bever- 
ley. For  travelling  that  day  I  was  'Miss  B.  White/ 
Once  I'd  told  you  I  was  Beverley,  I  had  always  to 
be  Beverley  for  you. 

"Stephen — or  Stephan,  his  Russian  name — and 
I,  were  born  in  Russia,  where  father  superintended 
an  immense  tract  of  oil  wells  for  Mr.  Heron.  When 
my  father  was  killed  in  an  explosion  (I  was  fourteen 
and  Stephen  twelve)  Mr.  Heron  felt  it  his  duty  to 
look  after  our  future.  He  had  just  married  at  that 
time.  You  must  know  Mrs.  Heron  well  enough  to 
understand  that  she  wouldn't  like  to  have  two  half- 
grown-up  children  thrust  upon  her.  Why,  she  used 
to  be  jealous  even  of  her  husband's  first  wife,  an 
Irish  girl,  who  died  years  and  years  ago,  in  Ireland! 


298  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

It  seems  Mr.  Heron  hadn't  told  her  about  his  old 
love  story.  She  came  across  a  picture  of  him  taken 
with  the  girl,  and  some  letters  from  people  Mr.  Heron 
had  employed  to  search  for  his  wife,  whom  he  had 
quarrelled  with  and  left.  I  was  staying  at  their 
house  when  Dolores  discovered  the  photograph  and 
letters.  She  rushed  into  the  room  where  I  was  with 
Mr.  Heron.  He  had  to  seize  her  hands  to  keep  her 
from  tearing  the  picture  in  pieces;  and  he  held  them 
while  he  told  her  his  sad  story.  He'd  been  visiting 
Ireland,  it  seemed,  years  before,  and  met  a  girl,  very 
poor  but  very  lovely,  and  married  her  when  they'd 
known  each  other  a  few  weeks.  It  seemed  the  girl 
had  been  engaged  to  someone  else;  and  that  someone 
took  a  cruel  revenge  on  Heron.  By  a  plot  which  he 
confessed  afterward  when  it  was  too  late,  he  made 
it  appear  that  the  girl  had  been  his  mistress.  The 
evidence  was  so  strong  Heron  could  hardly  help 
believing,  so  he  came  back  to  America  and  tried  to 
forget.  Years  after  the  other  man,  dying  of  typhoid, 
confessed  to  a  priest  that  he  had  lied,  and  forged 
letters.  The  priest  wrote  to  Heron.  But  the  poor, 
deserted  girl  was  dead,  and  all  that  Heron  could 
learn  when  he  dashed  back  to  Ireland  to  find  her 
was  that  a  baby  girl  had  been  born  a  few  months 
after  he  left  his  wife.  He  tried  for  years  to  trace  the 
child,  but  could  not.  And  it  was  only  after  he'd 
given  up  all  hope  that  he  married  Dolores  Moreno. 
I  think  Mr.  Heron  felt  tender  over  us  children  be- 
cause of  his  lost  little  one.  After  leaving  us  in  Russia 
at  school  for  a  while,  and  a  year  hi  England,  to  learn 


WHO  IS  STEPHEN?  299 

the  language  better  than  we  knew  it,  another  year 
in  France  and  another  in  Italy  (in  families  whom  he 
paid  to  educate  and  take  care  of  us)  he  must  have  had 
a  longing  to  see  what  we  were  like.  He  and  Dolores, 
his  wife,  came  abroad,  and  brought  us  back  to  Amer- 
ica with  them,  much  against  Dolores*  will,  I  know. 
I  was  nearly  eighteen,  and  I  realized  the  first  minute 
we  met  that  Dolores  was  going  to  hate  me.  We 
went  straight  to  a  house  near  Albuquerque,  which 
belongs  to  Mrs.  Heron.  Her  brother  Louis  always 
Lived  there.  He  was  an  invalid,  you  know;  about 
a  year  younger  than  Dolores;  something  wrong  with 
his  heart,  and  almost  a  hunchback — but  oh,  what  a 
handsome  face !  When  he  took  a  violent  fancy  to  me 
her  one  thought  was  to  get  me  out  of  his  way.  Louis 
had  money  of  his  own.  He  was  rich,  and  I  suppose 
Dolores  was  afraid  I  might  try  to  marry  him,  as  I 
hadn't  a  penny.  It  was  bad  enough  for  her  that  Mr. 
Heron  should  have  a  tenderness  for  me,  because  of  his 
lost  child;  but  that  Louis  should  love  me  was  more 
than  she  could  stand.  I  was  sent  to  a  boarding- 
school,  and  when  I  was  twenty  I  began  to  teach. 
Dolores  didn't  like  Stephen,  either.  She  grudged 
every  penny  her  husband  spent  for  us. 

"Mr.  Heron  used  his  influence,  and  got  Stephen 
work  in  Los  Angeles  as  a  reporter  on  a  newspaper, 
when  he  was  only  eighteen.  He  was  tall  and  hand- 
some, and  could  pass  for  two  years  older  at  least.  I 
was  very  unhappy  at  this  time,  for  I'd  begun  to 
worry  about  Stephen.  I  was  sure  he  was  keeping 
some  secret  from  me.  But  I  found  out  nothing  till 


300  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

the  crash  came.  Oh,  Roger,  it  was  horrible.  He'd 
fallen  under  the  influence  of  those  anarchists — those 
dynamiters,  who  had  been  terrorizing  all  America 
for  years.  They'd  persuaded  him  that  they  were 
noble  reformers.  Poor  Stephen  was  a  useful  tool. 
He  never  did  any  of  the  dynamiting  with  his  own 
hands,  but  he  used  to  make  bombs,  and  carry  them 
from  place  to  place,  and  take  letters  it  wasn't  thought 
safe  to  send  through  the  post.  It  was  the  blowing- 
up  of  the  Times  buildings  in  Los  Angeles  and  all 
those  innocent  men  being  killed  that  sickened  him, 
he  confessd  afterward,  when  at  last  he  opened  his 
heart  to  me.  But  he  was  too  deep  in  to  free  him- 
self. It's  now  two  years  ago  that  the  break  hap- 
pened, and  all  our  We  collapsed — Stephen's  and 
mine. 

"Some  of  the  old  lot  he'd  worked  with  were  left — 
men  who  had  managed  to  keep  clear  and  never  be 
suspected  when  William  Burns,  the  detective,  was 
fighting  the  Macnamaras  and  their  gang.  Only  one 
or  two  who'd  been  under  suspicion  wriggled  out  from 
Burns'  clutches.  A  man  named  Carl  Schmelzer 
was  the  cleverest.  He  went  abroad,  and  was  sup- 
posed to  die  in  Germany.  But  he  didn't  die.  By 
that  time  they  were  engaged  in  new  enterprises,  as 
the  old  ones  were  too  risky;  but  they  always  pre- 
tended to  be  working  for  Labour  against  Capital. 
John  Heron  was  their  target  two  years  ago.  The 
war  cry  was  that  he  was  the  master,  a  tyrant,  a  pluto- 
crat, ruthlessly  crushing  the  weak.  The  Comrades 
knew  our  history — Stephen's  and  mine — and  they 


WHO  IS  STEPHEN?  301 

tried  to  inflame  Stephen  against  Mr.  Heron  because 
he'd  failed  to  do  for  us  what  our  father's  services 
and  death  merited.  But  they  made  a  big  mis- 
take when  they  ordered  my  brother  to  dynamite  a 
railway  bridge,  just  as  a  train  with  Heron's  private 
car  was  due  to  pass  over  it.  He  refused,  and  threat- 
ened to  warn  Heron  unless  they  abandoned  all  their 
schemes  against  him.  That  gave  the  gang  a  fearful 
fright.  They  thought  their  one  chance  of  safety 
was  to  suppress  Stephen.  A  friend  of  his  who  lived 
at  Home  Colony  warned  him  that  there  was  a  plot 
to  kill  him.  He  came  straight  to  me  and  told  me 
the  whole  story.  Neither  of  us  had  much  hope.  We 
thought  the  Comrades  were  sure  to  get  him  in  the  end. 
Then  a  wonderful  thing  happened.  The  train  Stephen 
took,  after  his  visit  to  me,  was  wrecked.  Every- 
body in  the  car  with  Stephen  was  killed  except  him- 
self. An  idea  came  to  Stephen.  He  put  a  silver 
cigarette-case  with  his  name  on  it  into  the  pocket 
of  a  man  burnt  past  recognition — a  man  of  about 
his  own  size.  Then  he  crept  away  and  hid  for  many 
days.  When  he  hoped  it  might  be  fairly  safe,  he 
wrote  to  me,  knowing  I  mourned  for  him  as  dead. 
He  asked  if  I'd  risk  going  with  him  to  Russia  to  begin 
a  new  life  there  under  another  name.  Of  course  I 
said  'Yes.' 

"I  left  the  school,  and  some  jewellery  I  had  kept 
.us  going  for  a  while  till  there  was  a  ship  we  could  take 
for  Japan,  and  so  get  back  to  Russia.  We'd  have  to 
sail  from  San  Francisco,  so  presently  we  went  to 
Oakland,  travelling  at  night  by  local  trains.  We 


302  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

hoped  in  that  way  we  should  not  be  seen  by  any  one 
we  knew. 

"Whether  someone  did  see  us  or  not,  I  can't  tell. 
Anyhow,  from  the  day  Stephen  left  me  to  buy  our 
cabins  on  the  ship  IVe  never  seen  him  again.  He 
was  kidnapped  by  the  gang;  and  then  began  my 
martyrdom.  They  gave  me  a  week  of  suspense. 
Then  I  got  a  letter.  It  told  me  that  Stephen  had 
been  caught  and  would  be  punished  by  death  for  his 
treachery  unless  I'd  agree  to  buy  his  life.  I  was 
warned  that  if  I  went  to  the  police,  it  would  be  known 
to  them,  and  Stephen  instantly  killed.  If  I  consented 
to  bargain  I  must  put  a  'personal'  in  a  San  Francisco 
paper,  saying  'Steve's  sister  says  yes';  in  that  case  an 
appointment  would  be  made  with  a  man  who  would 
tell  me  what  to  do  to  save  Stephen. 

"Of  course,  I  obeyed.  Next  day  the  same  paper 
told  'Steve's  Sister*  where  to  go  for  instructions,  and 
at  what  time.  I  think  the  man  who  met  me  must 
have  been  Schmelzer  himself,  just  back  from  Europe. 
He  had  the  authoritative  manner  Stephen  had  spoken 
of,  and  a  great  deal  of  gesture.  He  didn't  give  him- 
self any  name  then,  but  afterward  I  knew  him  as 
Cheffinsky.  To  save  my  brother  I  had  only  to  get 
a  bundle  of  papers  which  were  in  the  possession  of 
John  Heron.  They  were  at  Albuquerque  in  Mrs. 
Heron's  house.  Heron  kept  them  there  because  he 
believed  no  one  would  suspect;  but  a  spy  the  'Com- 
rades' had  hired  to  act  as  a  gardener  there  overheard 
a  conversation,  and  knew  the  hiding-place.  Un- 
fortunately he  couldn't  put  his  hand  on  the  papers 


WHO  IS  STEPHEN?  303 

without  killing  a  man  to  get  at  them.  For  me,  it 
would  be  simple,  because  Louis  Moreno  was  in  love 
with  me.  Louis  had  charge  of  the  papers,  and  would 
let  me  see  them  if  I  treated  him  the  right  way.  How 
Cheffinsky  found  out  about  Louis  and  me  I  never 
heard;  perhaps  from  Stephen.  I  was  given  a  day  to 
think  the  matter  over.  Then  there  was  to  be  another 
meeting  in  the  same  place.  When  I  went  to  the  ren- 
dezvous for  the  second  time — it  was  in  a  park — I 
hadn't  made  up  my  mind.  But,  oh,  Roger,  the  wretch 
showed  me  a  snapshot  of  Stephen  in  a  room,  with  a 
rope  round  his  neck,  standing  on  tiptoe.  The  rope 
was  fastened  to  a  ring  in  the  ceiling,  where  a  chan- 
delier had  been.  If  Stephen  had  dropped  from  fa- 
tigue he  would  have  choked  to  death.  'Six  hours  a 
day  of  this  medicine,'  Cheffinsky  said,  'till  you've 
handed  us  the  papers  we  want.' 

"I  promised  to  go  to  Albuquerque  and  get  them. 
What  the  papers  were  I  wasn't  told.  Afterward  I 
heard  more  about  them — from  Louis  himself.  The 
day  of  the  second  meeting  in  the  park  I  was  given 
directions  what  to  do,  but  they  were  changed  in  a 
hurry.  The  Comrades  got  warning  to  'clear  out*  and 
go  East  as  quick  as  they  could.  A  telegram  reached 
me  only  a  few  hours  before  I  was  to  start  for  Albu- 
querque. It  said,  'Delay  journey.  Writing/  and  a 
letter  came  the  same  night  to  the  quiet  little  board- 
ing-house where  I  stayed.  My  brother  had  been 
taken  East,  where  I  should  meet  him  when  I  handed 
over  the  papers.  I  was  told  what  train  to  take  to 
Albuquerque,  and  what  train  to  leave  in:  the  Santa 


304  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

Fe  Limited.  I  was  to  find  reservations  on  board  for 
'Miss  B.  White.'  At  Chicago  I  was  to  get  out  of  the 
train  and  find  a  man  waiting  for  me.  You  know  all 
about  that,  and  what  happened.  There  was  money 
in  the  letter  of  instructions,  enough  to  see  me  through 
to  Chicago,  otherwise  I  couldn't  have  started.  What 
I  had  was  almost  all  gone.  Oh,  I  can  hardly  bear 
to  think  of  that  day,  and  what  I  went  through — be- 
fore I  met  2/OM." 

"Don't  think  of  it — don't  go  on  if  you'd  rather 
not,"  Roger  begged. 

But  Beverley  wished  to  go  on. 

"There  was  one  thing  the  Comrades  hadn't  cal- 
culated upon,"  she  said,  "and  that  was  that  the 
Herons  would  be  at  Albuquerque.  When  the  plan  was 
made  the  Herons  were  at  Los  Angeles,  and  expect- 
ing to  stay  there.  You  must  have  been  with  them — 
just  after  the  great  case  was  decided  in  John  Heron's 
favour — thanks  to  you!  But  Louis  had  been  seized 
with  one  of  his  heart  attacks — he  had  angina  pec- 
toris — and  had  wired  for  his  sister.  Dolores  didn't 
wish  to  travel  without  her  husband,  so  both  decided 
to  go.  As  for  Justin  O'Reilly,  it  was  at  Albuquerque 
I  first  saw  him.  It  came  out  that  he  was  taking  a 
short  holiday  in  California,  and  I  heard  talk  about 
his  visiting  some  place  where  he  and  his  father  had 
lived.  I  had  the  impression  of  his  being  a  California 
man.  Mr.  Heron  had  helped  O'Reilly  to  get  into 
Congress.  They  weren't  intimate,  though  I  believe 
they're  distantly  related,  but  Mr.  Heron  wanted  to 
see  him  before  he  went  East,  and  wired  for  O'Reilly  to 


WHO  IS  STEPHEN?  305 

meet  them  at  Albuquerque.  When  I  arrived,  expect- 
ing to  find  only  Louis  in  the  house,  they  were  all  there. 

"It  was  a  shock  and  a  blow  to  me  to  see  the  Her- 
ons. I'd  meant  to  lie,  and  tell  Louis  I'd  come  to 
him  because  I'd  changed  my  mind,  and  liked  him 
better  than  I  thought.  But  to  account  for  my  sud- 
den appearance,  uninvited,  to  Dolores,  who  hated 
me,  was  another  matter. 

"  She  and  her  husband  supposed  I  was  living  quietly 
at  school,  mourning  for  my  dead  brother.  I  had 
to  make  up  a  story  quickly.  I  said  that  I'd  lost 
my  position,  and  hoped  they  would  put  me  up 
at  Albuquerque  until  I  could-  get  another.  They 
couldn't  turn  me  out  that  night.  And  Louis  was  fairly 
well  again  by  that  time.  He  was  very  glad  to  see 
me.  I  made  the  most  of  his  welcome — for  Stephen's 
sake.  You  see,  I  had  to  succeed!  I  wrote  a  note, 
and  slipped  it  into  Louis'  hand.  In  it  I  hinted  that 
I  had  something  very  particular  to  say  to  him.  He 
must  go  to  his  own  rooms  as  soon  as  he  could — he  had 
a  whole  suite  to  himself  which  he  could  shut  off  from 
the  rest  of  the  house.  It  was  on  the  ground  floor. 
I  said  I  would  go  to  him  there. 

"Now  comes  the  most  terrible  part  of  my  story. 
Roger,  you  may  hate  me  when  you've  heard  the  rest! 
I  went  to  Louis'  room.  He  let  me  in.  I  told  him 
that  I  had  changed  my  mind.  I  would  marry  him 
if  he  wanted  me  to,  but  only  on  one  condition.  I  said 
I'd  heard  from  friends  of  Stephen's  that  Mr.  Heron 
was  keeping  doc'uments  which  concerned  our  dead 
father;  that  they  were  with  other  private  papers,  in 


306  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

the  Albuquerque  house,  and  in  Louis'  charge.  If 
he  would  give  the  whole  bundle  to  me  to  look  over, 
and  choose  what  I  wished  to  take  away,  I'd  be  his 
wife  whenever  he  wanted  me. 

"He  tried  to  seize  me  in  his  arms,  but  I  threat- 
ened to  go  away  at  once  unless  he  kept  quiet,  and 
did  as  I  told  him.  There  was  a  packet  of  papers,  he 
admitted,  but  he  vowed  to  me  that  they  were  only 
business  papers.  They  were  compromising  to  John 
Heron,  and  would  do  him  immense  harm — worse 
than  ever,  now  that  he'd  just  come  successfully 
through  the  courts — if  they  passed  into  enemy 
hands.  I  insisted  that  there  must  be  something 
about  my  father.  There  could  be  no  mistake,  and 
unless  Louis  would  let  me  look,  I'd  never  marry  him. 
He  still  objected,  arguing  that  all  the  things  were  in 
one  envelope,  sealed  with  three  seals,  which  must 
not  be  broken,  or  his  sister  and  her  husband  would 
never  forgive  him. 

"He  went  to  his  desk — we  were  in  his  sitting- 
room — and  showed  me  a  secret  drawer  between  two 
other  drawers.  He  took  out  an  envelope — you've 
seen  it.  Til  try  to  cut  off  the  seals  with  a  sharp 
knife,'  he  said,  'and  I  can  stick  them  on  again. 
While  he  spoke,  he  began  looking  for  the  knife  he 
wanted,  and  I  snatched  at  the  envelope.  But  his 
fingers  closed  down  on  it.  He  laughed  in  my  face. 
'So  that's  your  game!'  he  said.  I'm  not  so  soft  as 
you  thought!'  But  I  struggled  with  him.  I  was 
strong;  he  was  an  invalid.  He'd  just  been  ill.  When 
he  realized  that  I  was  more  than  his  match,  his  face 


WHO  IS  STEPHEN?  307 

looked  like  a  devil's.  I  shall  never  forget  it.  'You'll 
pay  for  this!'  he  screamed  at  the  top  of  his  voice — 
an  awful  scream — 'Help!  murder!' 

"Overhead  was  what  they  called  the  living  room. 
I  knew  he  would  be  heard;  people  would  come.  I 
wrenched  the  envelope  from  him,  and  ran  for  the 
window.  I  dared  not  go  to  the  door;  I  should  meet 
someone  and  be  caught.  Louis  grabbed  my  dress, 
shouting  'murder!'  Then  I  seemed  to  go  mad.  I 
gave  him  a  push,  and  he  fell  over  a  chair,  and  lay 
quite  still.  I  rushed  to  the  door,  locked  it,  and  took 
the  key,  to  make  a  few  minutes'  delay.  Then  I 
jumped  out  of  the  window  (I  told  you  Louis'  rooms 
were  on  the  ground  floor)  and  ran  very  fast.  I  won't 
stop  now  to  tell  you  the  adventures  I  had  before  I 
managed  to  dash  into  the  Albuquerque  railway  sta- 
tion, at  the  last  minute,  after  the  train  was  in.  Once 
in  the  train  when  I  didn't  see  Louis,  or  Mr.  Heron's 
secretary,  or  any  one  I  expected  to  follow  me,  I  be- 
gan to  hope  that  some  other  trail  had  been  followed. 
It  would  have  seemed  more  likely  that  I'd  go  back 
west,  where  I  had  friends,  than  travel  east  where  I 
was  a  stranger.  You  promised  to  stand  by  me. 
Then  you  met  Justin  O'Reilly.  I  didn't  dream 
Louis  was  dead.  It  was  a  week  later,  when  you  and 
I  were  married,  that  I  saw  in  a  newspaper  about  the 
beautiful  Mrs.  John  Heron  losing  her  brother  sud- 
denly, from  heart  disease.  A  date  was  mentioned: 
the  night  I  took  the  envelope.  Oh,  Roger,  I  felt  that 
I  was  guilty  of  his  death.  Even  to  save  Stephen  I 
could  not  have  killed  him.  Do  you  think  me  a 


308  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

murderess?  If  you  do,  just  let  me  go  from  your 
arms,  and  I  shall  understand.  You  needn't  tell  me 
in  words." 

Roger  held  her  closer.  "No,  my  darling,"  he  said, 
"you're  not  a  murderess.  You  didn't  kill  Louis 
Moreno.  He  .couldn't  have  lived  many  weeks.  The 
doctor  had  warned  John  Heron.  I  love  you  more 
than  ever  for  what  you've  gone  through.  It's  you 
who  should  hate  me  for  my  cruelty  and — and  my 
beastly  suspicion.  But  there  were  some  things  that 
tried  me  rather  hard.  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  this 
story  long  ago?  Surely  you  could  have  trusted  me 
to  keep  your  secret?" 

"Yes,  I  could  have  trusted  you,  even  though  it 
was  Stephen's  secret  more  than  mine.  But  I  had 
taken  a  double  oath  not  to  tell!  First,  I'd  prom- 
ised Stephen  himself  when  he  came  back  from  the 
dead,  never  to  give  any  hint  of  the  truth.  Later, 
when  he  was  kidnapped,  I  was  obliged  to  swear  an- 
other oath,  on  the  memory  of  our  dead  parents,  and 
my  love  for  my  brother,  that  I  wouldn't  betray 
Cheffinsky  and  his  comrades.  Now  it's  different. 
They  have  betrayed  me.  Stephen  is  dead.  Such 
a  girl  as  Clo  Riley  wouldn't  have  sent  this  message 
unless  she  knew  for  certain.  He  must  have  died  just 
before  that  dreadful  Sunday  when  all  our  unhappi- 
ness — yours  and  mine — began,  Roger.  To  keep  their 
hold  over  me,  those  men  would  have  done  all  they 
could  to  save  him  till  they  had  the  papers  they 
wanted  to  use,  and  ruin  John  Heron.  Soon  after 
you  brought  me  to  New  York  they  found  out  about 


WHO  IS  STEPHEN?  309 

our  marriage,  and  put  'personals'  in  the  newspapers 
headed  like  those  others  in  California:  'Steve's  Sis- 
ter.' They  knew,  of  course,  that  their  man,  who 
should  have  met  me  in  Chicago,  had  been  prevented 
from  coming — imprisoned  on  a  charge  which  they 
called  a  'frame-up'  but  I  believe  he  must  have  picked 
someone's  pocket  and  been  arrested  in  the  railway 
station.  They  still  had  power  over  me,  although  I 
was  your  wife,  but  I  had  power  over  them,  too,  because 
I'd  got  the  papers  they  wanted.  I  answered  the  mes- 
sages, and  refused  to  give  up  what  I  had  unless  my 
brother  fetched  it.  I  hoped  that  would  bring  him. 
But  he  only  wrote — a  short  letter.  He  said  that  he 
was  safe  for  the  time  being,  and  was  treated  kindly. 
He  would  come  when  he  could.  Meanwhile,  I  'must 
keep  the  papers  and  the  secret' — and  wait.  I  felt 
relieved  after  that!  I  dared  to  let  myself  be  happy. 
Then,  that  Sunday,  when  Clo  and  I  went  out  in  the 
motor,  a  man  was  waiting  for  me  in  the  street.  He 
made  me  understand  that  he  came  from  Stephen. 
His  name  was  Peterson.  He  said  the  Comrades  had 
changed  their  minds.  They  wouldn't  let  Stephen 
come  to  me.  I  must  send  the  papers  that  night  or 
my  brother  would  die.  When  I  asked  the  reason  for 
the  change,  Peterson  pretended  not  to  know.  Now, 
I  understand  at  last.  Stephen  was  dead  already. 
Cheffinsky  and  the  others  had  at  last  lost  their  hold 
over  me  and  dared  not  wait  longer.  I  sent  the  en- 
velope to  Peterson  by  Clo,  to  the  Westmorland  Hotel. 
Yes,  the  man  who  was  murdered!  That  has  been 
another  horror  for  me.  It  was  when  I  was  taking  the 


310  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

envelope  to  Clo,  in  the  car,  that  I  broke  the  rope  of 
pearls,  and  dared  not  even  stop  to  pick  them  up! 
I  hoped  that  Stephen  was  saved — thanks  to  Clo — but, 
Roger,  it  was  not  the  same  envelope  you  took  care 
of  for  me  in  the  train.  It  had  been  changed.  In- 
side, when  Peterson  opened  it  before  Clo,  he  found 
only  blank  paper — writing  paper  of  the  Santa  Fe 
Limited  train.  Clo  puzzled  the  mystery  out,  and 
explained  what  might  have  happened  when  you  and 
I  left  the  train  in  Chicago — what  must  have  hap- 
pened. A  clever  trick  of  Justin  O'Reilly's,  working 
for  the  Herons." 

"Justin  O'Reilly!  Damn  him!"  Roger  broke 
out;  but  Beverley  covered  his  lips  with  her  hand. 

"No.  He  wasn't  to  blame.  He  must  have  thought 
me  a  monster  of  ingratitude  and  treachery  to  the 
Herons.  The  moment  they  saw  the  secret  drawer 
open  they  would  all  have  guessed  that  I'd  stolen  the 
sealed  envelope.  It  was  the  only  thing  kept  there. 
If  John  Heron  told  O'Reilly  what  the  contents  were, 
he  must  have  supposed  I  meant  to  make  money  by 
blackmailing.  The  reason  the  Herons  were  silent 
and  left  me  alone,  was  that  O'Reilly  had  managed 
to  have  you  robbed  of  the  envelope,  at  Chicago, 
where  it  was  changed  for  another — another  just  like 
it,  given  him  by  Dolores,  with  her  seal  and  gold  wax. 
So  they  were  safe.  O'Reilly  kept  the  right  envelope, 
and  it  was  safer  with  him  than  at  Albuquerque. 
But  they  could  never  be  sure  whether  you  were  in 
the  affair  with  me  or  not.  So,  I  have  lost  you  the 
Herons'  friendship." 


WHO  IS  STEPHEN?  311 

"As  if  I  cared!" 

"And  Justin  O'Reilly  has  doubted  you,  and  de- 
tested me.  But  he  has  been  splendid  to  Clo,  who 
went  to  his  hotel  and  stole  the  real  envelope  out  of 
his  private  safe  and  brought  it  here " 

"So  that  was  it!"  said  Roger.  "And  in  your 
boudoir  I  found  the  envelope  addressed  to  him  at  his 
bank,  and  sent  it  back  to  the  Dietz  that  night." 

"  Roger !    It  was  you  ? ' ' 

"Yes.  You  are  not  the  only  one  with  a  confession 
to  make.  There  are  many  things  I " 

"I  don't  want  a  confession  from  you!"  she  broke 
in.  "Whatever  you  did  was  right.  Even  before  you 
told  me,  I  felt  you  knew  about  the  pearls  being 
gone " 

"Though  I  knew,  I  ought  to  have  trusted  you.  I 
ought  to  have  trusted  you  when  I  heard  you  tele- 
phone O'Reilly " 

"So  you  did  hear!  I  was  sure  of  it.  I  telephoned 
about  Clo.  He  was  helping  her,  and  so,  indirectly, 
helping  me,  though  I'd  seen  him  only  when  he 
brought  her  here  that  Sunday  night,  after  she'd  been 
to  his  hotel.  Oh,  Roger,  you  don't  know  what  that 
child  has  done  for  me!  Not  only  did  she  get  back 
the  envelope,  and  now  the  pearls — which  Peterson 
stole — but  she  has  gone  through  an  ordeal  terrible 
enough  to  kill  most  women,  or  drive  them  mad — that 
delicate  girl!  She  may  be  in  danger  still — for  she 
dropped  the  pearls  in  a  bag  out  of  a  window  in  a 
shabby  boarding-house  where  she  has  been  watching 
a  thief.  Miss  Blackburne  has  just  told  me.  My  one 


312  THE  LION'S  MOUSE  , 

comfort  is  that  a  man,  answering  Justin  O'Reilly's 
description,  got  out  of  a  motor  car  in  front  of  the 
house,  as  Miss  Blackburne  came  away.  Clo  tricked 
O'Reilly,  and  stole  from  him,  and  yet — I  think  she 
bewitched  him.  I  think  he'd  risk  his  life  to  keep 
her  from  harm.  I  pray  that  he  may  bring  her  here, 
safe  and  sound." 

"He's  not  likely  to  come  to  my  house,"  Roger  said. 
"I've  just  caused  him  the  greatest  disappointment 
of  his  life.  I  wanted  to  hurt  him — and  I  found  a 
way.  By  this  time  he  must  know  what  I've  done. 
There's  an  old  mansion  in  Gramercy  Square  built 
by  O'Reilly's  great-great-grandfather.  Years  ago 
there  was  a  forced  sale;  and  ever  since  Justin  O'Reilly 
was  a  boy  he  has  wanted  to  buy  the  house  back.  I 
have  bought  it.  But  I  wish  to  heaven  he  would  fall 
in  love  with  this  Clo  of  yc.'irs  and  marry  her.  I'd 
give  them  the  deed  of  sale  as  a  wedding  present!" 

Roger  had  sprung  up,  released  by  Beverley,  and 
almost  shouted  the  words  of  his  inspiration.  He 
had  forgotten  everything  and  everybody  in  the  world 
except  his  wife,  the  girl  who  had  helped  her,  and  his 
own  late  enemy,  whom  he  would  now  gladly  welcome 
as  his  dearest  friend.  A  knock  brought  him  back  to 
realities  with  a  start;  yet  he  felt  half  dazed  as  he 
opened  the  door,  to  face  Leontine. 

"The  butler  begged  of  me  to  come,"  said  the 
Frenchwoman.  "Is  it  the  wish  of  Monsieur  and 
Madame  that  dinner  be  still  longer  delayed?" 

Roger  turned  and  looked  at  Beverley,  his  hand  on 
the  door.  "  What  shall  we  say?  "  he  asked.  "  Shall 


WHO  IS  STEPHEN?  313 

I  go  down  without  you?    Shall  I  explain  that  you've 

a  headache " 

"No,"  Beverley  answered.  She  stood  up,  tall  and 
very  beautiful,  though  deadly  pale.  "I  have  no 
headache.  I  am  quite  well.  Leontine.  tell  Johnson 
dinner  may  be  served." 


XXXIX 
ON  THE  ROAD  TO  NEWPORT 

THROUGH  the  blue  dusk  of  the  June  night  a  big 
gray  limousine  car  bowled  smoothly  over  the  velvet 
road  surface,  with  the  moon  overhead,  and  the  sea 
making  distant  music.  Turning  a  corner  with  a 
swing  the  limousine  came  upon  another  car,  stationary 
and  in  trouble.  A  man  in  evening  dress  was  holding 
an  electric  lamp  for  the  chauffeur  to  peer  under  the 
bonnet,  and  standing  beside  him  was  a  woman  in 
black,  wearing  a  filmy  purple  cloak. 

"Want  any  help?"  O'Reilly  called  from  the 
window,  while  his  chauffeur  slowed  down. 

"No,  thank  you!  We'll  soon  be  all  right,"  an- 
swered the  man  with  the  lamp.  The  light  shone  on 
his  face,  which  was  strange  to  O'Reilly,  and  on  that 
of  the  woman,  which,  to  his  surprise,  was  familiar. 
"You  can  go  on,"  he  said  to  his  chauffeur,  in  a  low 
voice. 

"Why,  Mr.  O'Reilly,  it  was  Mrs.  Heron!"  Clo 
cried,  sinking  back  reluctantly  upon  her  comfortably 
rigged-up  bed,  after  a  long  stare  through  the  window. 

"'Mr.  O'Reilly/  indeed?  Don't  you  realize  I'm 
your  husband?"  Justin  laughed  at  her. 

"I'd  forgotten,"  said  Clo.  "It's  only  since  this 
morning,  and  we've  had  so  many  things  to  think  of." 

314 


ON  THE  ROAD  TO  NEWPORT       315 

"I've  thought  of  nothing  but  you.  You  seem  to 
have  thought  of  nothing  but  your  Angel — and  these 
Herons." 

"It's  the  Herons  I'm  thinking  of  now,"  Clo  con- 
fessed. "Why  did  you  tell  the  man  to  go  on?" 

"Why,  I  like  old  John  Heron,  but  I'm  not  a  spoil- 
sport." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I'm  wondering  if  Mrs.  Heron  and  that  chap  are 
on  their  way  to  the  Sands'  ball.  If  Heron  doesn't 
mind  letting  them  enjoy  each  other's  company,  why 
should  I  butt  in?" 

"Mr.  Heron  was  in  the  car,"  Clo  insisted  gravely. 
"It  was  dark  inside,  but  I  saw  his  face  at  the  win- 
dow." 

"You  must  have  sharp  eyes,"  said  Justin.  "The 
window  looked  black  as  a  pocket  to  me." 

"You  think  I  imagined  it.  But  I'm  sure!  Oh, 
Mr. — er — Justin,  do  let's  go  back  and  warn  him! 
I  have  a  presentiment  that  if  we  don't,  it  will  be  too 
late." 

"Whatever  you  feel  as  if  you  must  do  shall  be 
done,"  said  Justin,  with  a  tenderness  in  his  voice  of 
which  few  people  would  have  believed  him  capable. 
"  The  doctor  humoured  you,  and  told  me  to,  so  here 
goes!"  He  called  through  the  speaking-tube,  and 
directed  the  chauffeur  to  turn.  "Go  back  till  you 
get  within  a  few  yards  of  that  auto  we  passed  hung 
up  on  the  road,"  he  added.  And  to  Clo: 

"Astonishing  the  interest  you  take  in  the  Her- 
ons!" he  teased. 


316  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

"Not  in  them.  In  him.  I  don't  think  I  like  Mrs. 
Heron,"  she  explained. 

"You've  worried  about  him  ever  since  you  came 
to  yourself  yesterday.  But  then,  I'm  used  to  John 
Heron's  life  being  threatened.  It  used  to  happen 
about  once  a  week.  And  he  is  alive  to  this  day." 

"I  feel  awfully  responsible,"  said  Clo.  "You  see, 
I  heard  Kit  and  Churn  talking  of  the  plot,  and  say- 
ing that  Chuff  was  sure  to  have  found  someone  else, 
after  Pete  died." 

"I  tried  to  get  Heron  three  times  on  long  distance 
yesterday,"  said  O'Reilly,  "and  when  he  was  always 
out,  I  wired." 

"You  couldn't  explain  clearly  in  the  telegram." 

"If  you  really  saw  him  in  the  car,  he's  all  right,  up 
to  date.  There  it  is,  still  stranded.  We  shall  soon 
know." 

"Will  you  get  out  and  talk  to  him  seriously?"  Clo 
urged. 

"Yes.  If  it's  he  and  not  his  ghost  you  saw.  I'll 
get  him  to  walk  along  the  road  with  me,  out  of  ear- 
shot from  his  wife." 

The  gray  limousine  slowed,  and  carefully  stopped. 
The  chauffeur  had  been  told  that,  for  his  life,  he  must 
not  let  the  car  jolt  or  jerk. 

Justin  kissed  his  bride  of  a  few  hours  good-bye 
for  a  few  minutes,  and  jumped  out. 

While  Clo  kissed  her  hand,  almost  timidly,  because 
Justin  had  kissed  it,  Justin  himself  walked  on  to  the 
other  car. 

"You!"  exclaimed  Dolores  Heron.    "So  it  was 


ON  THE  ROAD^TO  NEWPORT       317 

you  in  the  limousine  that  hailed  us?  Funny  I  didn't 
recognize  your  voice,  but  the  chauffeur's  tinkering 
made  such  a  noise " 

O'Reilly  was  about  to  ask  for  Heron  when  Dolores 
introduced  him  to  Mr.  Hanunersley-Fisher.  "He's 
our  host  at  Narragansett,  and  is  takingjis  over  to 
Roger  Sands,'"  she  said.  "Jack's  in  the  car,  very 
bored.  I  believe  he's  gone  to  sleep." 

"No,  he  hasn't,"  Heron's  voice  answered  rather 
testily,  for  he  secretly  disliked  Dolores'  habit  of  call- 
ing him  "Jack."  "He's  only  waiting  for  a  chance 
to  speak!" 

O'Reilly  went  to  the  window  of  the  car,  and  shook 
hands  with  his  friends. 

"It's  not  possible  that  you're  going  to  the  Sands'?'* 
Heron  said. 

"I  should  have  made  the  same  remark  about  you 
a  few  days  ago,"  retorted  O'Reilly.  "But — cir- 
cumstances have  altered  cases  with  us  both." 

"My  wife  is  the  circumstance  that  has  altered  my 
case,"  Heron  replied,  in  the  tone  of  a  man  with  a 
grievance. 

"So  is  mine!"  returned  Justin,  in  a  purposely  sub- 
dued tone. 

"Your— what?" 

"My  wife.  But  let's  take  a  walk.  Your  friend's 
auto  won't  be  ready  to  move  for  some  time,  I  should 
judge." 

The  elder  man,  who  had  been  feeling  ill  and  tired, 
sprang  out  of  the  car  with  a  sudden  increase  of  liveli- 
ness. Dolores  and  Hammersley-Fisher  stood  with 


318  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

their  backs  to  the  two  men.  Heron's  wife  turned 
for  a  glance,  but  let  them  walk  away  without  a  ques- 
tion. She  was  flirting  with  her  host. 

Dolores  was  saying  to  Hanunersley-Fisher:  "I 
dislike  Mrs.  Roger  Sands  intensely.  I  wouldn't 
dream  of  going  to  her  house  if  her  husband  hadn't 
at  one  time  done  quite  a  service — legally,  I  mean — to 
mine.  I  don't  often  talk  like  this  about  people  I'm 
going  to  visit.  But  if  I  could  tell  you  the  things  that 
woman  has  done  you  wouldn't  blame  me." 

To  O'Reilly  Heron  was  repeating,  as  they  walked 
along: 

"Your  wife,  did  you  say?" 

"I  did  say.  But  before  I  go  on  I've  a  question  or 
so  to  ask.  You  got  my  wire,  advising  you  to  be  care- 
ful, and  hinting  that  some  of  the  old  lot  had  bobbed 
up  along  your  life  line?" 

"Yes.  We  were  out  all  the  afternoon.  I  found  the 
wire  this  evening  when  we  got  back  to  Hammersley- 
Fisher's  place  to  dress  for  this  show  at  Roger  Sands'. 
Now  will  you  tell  me " 

"I'll  tell  you  this,  that  my  opinion  of  Mrs.  Roger 
Sands  has  changed.  You  shall  hear  why  presently. 
I  rather  think  it  will  give  you  pleasure  to  change 
yours — when  you  can  conscientiously.  As  for 
Sands  himself,  I've  learned  that  we  have  both  done 
him  an  injustice  in  regard  to  those  papers." 

"How  have  you  learned  all  this?" 

"From  the  same  person  who  wished  me  to  put  you 
on  your  guard — made  me  call  you  up  at  Narragan- 
sett,  and  wire  when  I  couldn't  reach  you  by  'phone!" 


ON  THE  ROAD  TO  NEWPORT        319 

"Who  is  this  person?" 

"My  wife.  And  if  you  want  to  know  who  she 
is " 

"I  most  certainly  do." 

"I  could  introduce  you  to  her  in  about  two  min- 
utes if  I  weren't  afraid  of  her  giving  you  another 
shock." 

"Another— shock?" 

"As  she  did  on  the  Sunday  night  at  our  hotel 
when  you  had  your — little  attack.  Heron,  I've 
married  that  girl;  the  most  wonderful  girl  in  the 
world." 

Heron  stopped  short. 

"That  girl! — you — have — married  that  girl?" 

"Yes,"  said  Justin,  "I  married  her  this  morning. 
So,  if  you'd  been  inclined  to  forbid  the  banns,  you're 
too  late." 

For  an  instant  Heron  did  not  speak.  But  when 
words  came,  he  seemed  to  fling  them  at  his  friend: 
"You're  not  joking  when  you  say  that,  O'Reilly. 
You  have  a  meaning.  What's  in  your  mind?" 

"Perhaps — the  same  thing  that's  in  yours* 
Heron." 

"Speak  out  plainly." 

"I'm  not  prepared  to  do  that  without  encourage- 
ment. You  and  I  are  both  of  Irish  blood,  Heron, 
so  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  imagination  gets 
out  of  hand  now  and  then  with  us  Celtic  folk.  We 
generally  flatter  ourselves  it's  second  sight,  whereas  it 
may  be — just  nothing  at  all." 

"I  give  you  leave  to  speak." 


320  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

"Long  ago,  when  I  first  knew  you,  while  my  father 
was  still  alive,  and  before  you  married  Miss  Moreno, 
you  once  came  to  stop  with  us.  You  were  run  down 
and  ill.  My  father  thought  we  could  do  you  good. 
One  day  you  spoke  rather  frankly  about  a  certain 
incident  in  your  past.  Never  since  have  we  men- 
tioned that  conversation,  and  I  never  expected  to 
do  so  again.  Yesterday  I  heard  the  story  of  another 
incident  which  matched  it  about  as  perfectly  as  two 
bits  of  a  broken  coin  can  join  together.  This  second 
incident  concerned  two  Irish  girls.  The  first  died 
years  ago.  The  second — is  my  wife." 

"And  the  first  was  mine." 

"I  was  wondering.  You  see,  that  collapse  of  yours 
on  Sunday  night  wasn't  like  you,  in  the  normal 

course  of  things.    It  had  to  be  accounted  for,  and 
^^ » 

"The  girl  told  you!" 

"She  told  me  that  she'd  met  outside  my  door  a 
tall  man  with  red  hair  and  beard,  and  extraordinary 
eyes  that  pierced  her  through  and  through.  She 
told  me  that,  after  she'd  walked  on  to  a  stone 
ledge  from  my  window  to  yours,  and  climbed  in 
there " 

"Great  Heavens!" 

"I  mentioned  that  she  was  the  most  wonderful 
girl  in  the  world.  You'll  hear  the  story  some  day. 
She  didn't  know  who  you  were,  then.  When  she 
learned  your  name,  although  she  wasn't  conscious 
of  having  heard  it  in  the  past,  it  affected  her  strangely. 
She  seemed  to  associate  it  with  wakeful  nights  in  her 


ON  THE  ROAD  TO  NEWPORT       321 

early  childhood,  and  the  sound  of  a  woman's  sobs 
in  the  dark." 

"Don't,  Justin.  I  can't  stand  any  more — now. 
The  sight  of  her  face  that  Sunday  at  the  Dietz — the 
ghostliness  of  her,  in  my  locked  room — I  thought  I 
was  haunted." 

"Would  you  like  to  see  her  again,  and  judge  for 
yourself  whether " 

"Take  me  to  her,"  Heron  broke  in. 

They  started  on  again  toward  the  gray  limousine 
drawn  up  at  the  roadside  only  a  few  yards  away; 
but  before  they  had  gone  a  dozen  steps  Heron  stop- 
ped O'Reilly  once  more. 

"Does  she  know?"  he  asked  abruptly. 

"I  have  said  nothing  to  her,"  Justin  assured  him. 
"She  cannot  know.  Yet  I  think,  what  one  would 
call  her  'subconscious  self'  is  aware  of  a  tie  between 
you  and  herself.  She's  Celtic,  too!  She  hasn't  been 
able  to  rest  since  she  learned  (in  a  way  you  shall 
hear  about  later)  that  your  life  was  threatened.  I'm 
certain  that  something  above  Fate  has  brought  us 
three  together  on  the  road  to-night.  I  didn't  see 
you  in  the  car.  She  saw  you.  She  made  me  turn 
back." 

Without  another  word  Heron  began  to  walk  very 
fast.  Justin  kept  at  his  side,  but  did  not  speak  until 
they  had  nearly  reached  the  car  which  contained  Clo. 
Then  he  warned  Heron  hastily  that  the  girl  had 
had  an  accident.  "That  is,"  he  corrected  himself, 
dryly,  "she  was  shot  by  the  leader  of  the  band  that's 
after  you.  If  you  want  to  tell  her  here  and  now  what 


322  THE  LION'S  MOUSE 

you  think  you  are  to  each  other,  I  don't  forbid  it. 
Happy  news  seldom  hurts.  (By  the  by,  she  explained 
to  me  that  she  came  over  to  America  because  she 
thought  the  States  looked  small  on  the  map,  and  she 
might  meet  her  American  father!)  Go  gently  with 
her,  that's  all  I  ask." 

"You  give  me  leave  to  talk  to  her — as  I  wish?" 

"Yes.  But— what  about  Mrs.  Heron?  Is  she " 

"Oh,  later,  I  must  tell  her.  To-night  I  want  it  to 
rest  between  ourselves.  But,  O'Reilly,  I  can't  go 
on  with  my  wife  and  that  fellow,  Hammersley-Fisher, 
to  the  Sands' — af  ter  this !  What  am  I  to  do  ?  Think 
for  me.  I  can  think  only — of  one  thing." 

"When  I've  introduced  you  to  my  wife"  (each 
time  O'Reilly  spoke  those  two  words  it  was  with 
tenderness  and  pride)  "I'll  go  back  to  Hammersley- 
Fisher's  car  and  suggest  that  he  take  Mrs.  Heron  on, 
while  we  follow  later,  if  you  like." 
"For  heaven's  sake,  do." 

They  had  reached  the  gray  limousine.  Justin 
opened  the  door.  "Clo,here  is  my  old  friend,  John 
Heron,  come  to  see  you,"  he  announced. 

"Clo!  Her  name's  not  'Clodagh,'  is  it?"  the 
question  leapt  from  Heron's  lips. 

"It  was  one  of  my  mother's  names,  Mr.  Heron." 
"And  your  voice  is  her  voice!"  he  exclaimed. 
"Your  face  is  her  face."  He  had  not  meant  to  begin 
in  this  way;  but  the  moment  was  too  big  for  him 
when  Clo  switched  on  an  electric  lamp,  and  the  light 
framed  her  in  silver.  Justin  silently  moved  away, 
leaving  the  two  to  make  acquaintance  as  Fate  led. 


ON  THE  ROAD  TO  NEWPORT       323 

Next  morning  the  newspapers  all  over  the  country 
were  head-lined  with  a  new  sensation.  Mrs.  John 
Heron,  of  California,  had  arrived  rather  late,  on  ac- 
count of  an  accident  to  the  car  of  Mr.  Hammersley- 
Fisher,  who  had  been  entertaining  the  Herons  at 
Narragansett.  Mr.  Heron,  owing  to  indisposition,  had 
remained  behind,  and  only  the  lady's  host  had  ac- 
companied her  to  the  ball.  At  the  moment  of  their 
entrance  a  dance,  given  by  several  famous  Russian 
professionals,  was  nearly  ended.  An  extra  dancer 
had  accompanied  the  party  as  an  understudy  of  one 
of  its  members  who  feared  a  breakdown.  Not  being 
called  upon  to  dance,  he  had  taken  up  his  station  near 
the  door,  and  must  have  known  Mrs.  John  Heron  by 
sight,  though  not  her  husband.  When  she  came  in, 
accompanied  by  Hammersley-Fisher,  he  shot  the  lat- 
ter through  the  breast,  calling  out  in  English :  "  Take 
that,  John  Heron,  for  your  sins  against  the  Comrades !" 

Unfortunately  the  Russian — or  pretended  Russian 
— was  allowed  to  escape  in  the  confusion,  but  the 
police  had  hopes  of  getting  upon  his  track.  Mr. 
Hammersley-Fisher  was  seriously,  but  not  fatally,  in- 
jured. All  the  guests  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sands,  with 
the  exception  of  four,  had  left,  that  the  house  might 
be  kept  quiet  for  the  invalid. 

The  four  who  remained  were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  John 
Heron,  Justin  O'Reilly,  and  Justin  O'Reilly's  wife. 


THE   END 


THE  COUNTRY  LIFE  PRESS 
GARDEN  CITY,  N.  Y. 




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